Deductions and Cigarettes
by holmesinthetardis
Summary: "Charlie…you may not hold the Holmes intelligence but that does not make you a goldfish. No, you are not your sister; but, simultaneously you are. She takes advantage of the deductions her mind produces just as you take advantage of a fortissimo run of sixteenth notes or an expensive set of acrylic paints. Sentiment is not an advantage, nephew dear." -Uncle Mycroft (Parentlock)
1. Chapter 1

221B was quiet for the first time in weeks. Mrs. Hudson was downstairs baking scones and Sherlock Holmes was out at St. Bart's hospital to pay a visit to his favorite pathologist. Angelica and Charlie had immediately taken advantage of the adults' absence.

Angelica was curled up on the couch with a textbook set in her lap and a notebook open, resting on the space next to her on the couch. Black ink curled across the lined pages. Angelica Holmes was a spitting image of her father. She had long, raven curls and steel grey eyes that changed color with the light. Her skin was pale and stood out against her dark hair and black robe. Underneath her robe, she wore a pair of her brother's sweatpants and a white tank top. Blue rimmed reading glasses sat on the bridge of her nose.

Charlie sat at the desk chair with the window wide open. He leaned towards it as he released another puff of cigarette smoke. The white stick dangled from his pale lips as he watched the taxi's closely and listened to the sound of Mrs. Hudson's footsteps on the floor below him. He couldn't risk getting caught by her again. She always reacted worse than Charlie's father to his habit.

Charlie always noted how lucky his sister was to be able to look in the mirror every day and not be somewhat annoyed. Even though Charlie and Angelic shared the same basic facial structure, Charlie was cursed with ginger curls and hazel eyes. It was their mother's hair. Their mother's eyes. He couldn't stand it. He did his best to ignore it, always wearing the same grey beanie over his head. It was an odd look when paired with his usual outfit being a suit like his father's. However, today he wore only his boxers, much to his sister's protests.

There was a soft ping of a phone which caused Charlie to swear. Angelica smirked as she fished the mobile out of her pocket.

 _Flatmate. – F_

Angelica took a deep breath as she snapped closed her textbook and set it on the table in front of her. She copied the action with her notebook and placed the pen atop it. All the while, Charlie was hurriedly attempting to find a place to put out his cigarette.

"Where, where, where," Charlie mumbled to himself as he searched for his father's ashtray.

"He'd notice the extra bud, Charles. Especially one that's unfinished, Father hates to waste the nicotine," Angelica's voice was emotionless as she moved towards the kitchen to start the kettle.

Charlie swore as he spun around, finally accepting his fate. He then froze and looked towards Angelica with a wicked grin. Pulling up the end of his shorts, he successfully scorched his skin as he put out the cigarette on his upper thigh. He swore before tossing the cigarette out the window into the street. He shut the window and then rushed down the hallway.

"Shirt as well, Charles," Angelica called after him, "Father's bringing home our new flatmate."

"Finally, I was afraid Mrs. H would kick us out if we missed the rent again. Me working at Speedy's isn't ever going to be enough to pay for this place," Charlie replied. He entered the kitchen a few minutes later, now dressed in a pair of black dress pants and a red button down. Angelica rolled her eyes as he struggled to button the cuffs. She assisted him and he smiled as thanks.

The fifteen-year-olds froze as they heard a knock on the door. Mrs. Hudson said she would be only a moment which caused the pair to spring into action. Charlie fetched the remaining tea bags from the top cupboard as Angelica moved to get two bugs. Angelica placed the mugs on the counter just as the kettle whistled. Mrs. Hudson was just opening the door as Charlie dropped the teabags into the mugs. They could hear their father's voice downstairs as Angelica quickly poured the boiling water into the mugs.

Charlie picked up his mug and made his way down the hallway towards their shared bedroom as Angelica put the kettle back down. She then moved to the fridge in an attempt to ease drop on the conversation her father was having with their new flatmate in the room over.

"Well, this could be very nice. Very nice indeed." She heard the man say.

"Yes. Yes, I think so. My thoughts precisely," Sherlock replied as he looked around the room happily. Angelica went and picked up her mug, about to make an entrance. "So I went straight ahead and moved in."

"Soon as we get all this rubbish cleaned out ... Oh," The other man spoke simultaneously. He paused, embarrassed, when he realized what Sherlock was saying. "So this is all..."

"Well, obviously I can, um, straighten things up a bit," Sherlock spoke quickly. He walked across the room and made a half-hearted attempt to tidy up a little, throwing a couple of folders into a box and then taking some apparently unopened envelopes across to the fireplace where he put them onto the mantelpiece. He picked up a knife and stabbed it into them before moving towards the coffee table where he stacked up Angelica's textbooks neatly. He went to relocate them before noticing the owner walking out of the kitchen. John had noticed something else on the mantelpiece and lifted his cane to point at it.

"That's a skull." The man said, oblivious to the teenager in the room.

"Friend of ours," Angelica said before lifting her mug to her lips, grimacing as the drink burnt her upper lip. The man spun around and faced Angelica for the first time. She took the opportunity to let her eyes scan over the stranger.

The man was three inches shorter Angelica but most likely weighed twice as much as she, judging by his muscles. He had sandy blond hair and navy eyes. He stood straight, appearing oblivious to the cane in his hand - which one would expect him to lean on - meaning his limp was most likely psychosomatic. He wore jeans, a soft jumper, and a shocked expression. He glanced between Sherlock and Angelica.

"Uh, hello, Dr. John Watson," He introduced himself, holding out a hand to shake.

Angelica ignored it. "Afghanistan and Iraq?"

"Are you his sister?" John asked.

"Angelica Holmes," Sherlock introduced her. "My _daughter._ "

John's eyes widened at the word. Angelica smirked as she returned to her earlier position on the couch.

Sherlock sniffed the air and moved towards the window. He opened it and leaned his head towards the wooden pane. He sniffed again. Angelica smiled now.

Mrs. Hudson entered the room and picked up a cup and saucer that was resting on the table near Angelica's books. "What do you think, then, Doctor Watson? There's another bedroom upstairs if you'll be needing two bedrooms."

Angelica bit her tongue to keep from making a remark about John's level of grooming.

"Of course we'll be needing two." John's brow was furrowed.

"Oh, don't worry; there's all sorts round here. Charlie's brought home a boy before." She dropped her voice to a whisper. "Mrs. Turner next door's got married ones."

John looked across to Sherlock, expecting him to confirm that he and John were not involved in that way but Sherlock appeared oblivious to what's being insinuated. Mrs. Hudson walked across to the kitchen, then turned back and frowned at Angelica.

"Oh, Angel. The mess you've made."

She went into the kitchen and started tidying up, and John walked over to one of the two armchairs. He plumped up a cushion on the chair and then dropped heavily down into it. He looked across to Sherlock who was still sniffing the wood and looked more annoyed by the second.

"Can I yell at him?" Angelica asked and Sherlock frowned.

"You let him smoke," He said as he stood up straight. "I should shout at you as well. Your library trip tomorrow is no longer happening," He said before storming down the hallway, roaring his son's name. "Charles Sebastian Scott Holmes!"

John turned towards Angelica. "Is it always like this?"

Angelica shrugged. "Charlie likes to smoke and I enjoy seeing my father scold him for it. In actuality, he's merely a hypocrite." Angelica smirked as she watched Charlie sulk into the sitting room and plop down into the space next to her on the couch. His beanie was now missing, revealing his curly red hair.

"Why'd you let me smoke?" He asked.

"Because she enjoys seeing me frustrated with you," Sherlock responded as he reentered the room as well. Sherlock grasped Charlie's hat in his hands. "Dr. Watson, my son, Charlie."

Charlie stuck out his hand to shake John's. John accepted it and gave Charlie a polite smile.

"Don't worry, I won't be deducing you anytime soon. I'm the normal one around here," Charlie said causing John to nod slowly before looking towards Sherlock.

"I looked you up on the internet last night," John stated.

Sherlock became somewhat excited. "Anything interesting?"

"Found your website, The Science of Deduction," John continued.

Sherlock smiled proudly. "What did you think?"

John threw him a "you have got to be kidding me" type of look. Sherlock appeared hurt as Charlie let out a slight chuckle at Angelica's identical expression. She had put a lot of effort into helping her father through his analyses.

"You said you could identify a software designer by his tie and an airline pilot by his left thumb."

"Yes; and I can read your military career in your face and your leg," Angelica stated.

"Your brother's drinking habits in your mobile phone," Sherlock added.

John shook his head. "How?"

Sherlock smiled and turned away. Mrs. Hudson came out of the kitchen reading the newspaper. "What about these suicides then, Sherlock? I thought that'd be right up your street. Three exactly the same."

Sherlock walked over to the window of the living room at the sound of a car pulling up outside. Angelica grinned when he spoke. "Four."

Angelica placed her mug on the coffee table and rushed down the hallway to get dressed. She could see the flashing lights on the roof of the car as she passed the window. She quickly changed into a pair of slack and a red blouse. She pulled on a pair of men's dress shoes that her brother had outgrown shortly after he was gifted them by their uncle. They were more her style anyway.

"There's been a fourth. And there's something different this time," Angelica said as she reentered the room. John gaped at how quickly she had changed.

"A fourth?"

Sherlock turned as D.I. Lestrade entered the flat. He appeared flushed and was slightly out of breath. John watched the exchange between the two men and young woman. Charlie ignored the Inspector and reached forward to pick up a small chapter book from the table. He flipped it open to the last page he had dog eared and began to read.

"Where?"

"Brixton, Lauriston Gardens."

"What's new about this one? You wouldn't have come to get us if there wasn't something different?" Angelica questioned.

"You know how they never leave notes?"

"Yes."

"This one did. Will you come Sherlock? Only Sherlock," Lestrade emphasized the last part.

"Who's on forensics?" Sherlock asked.

"It's Anderson."

Sherlock grimaced. "Anderson won't work with me."

"Well, he won't be your assistant," Lestrade commented.

"I need an assistant. Which is why I won't come unless Angelica is allowed there as well," Sherlock insisted. John's eyes widened at his comment.

Lestrade ran a hand over his face. "Will you come?"

"Not in a police car. We'll be right behind."

"Thank you." Lestrade looked around at John, Mrs. Hudson and Charlie for a moment before heading back down the stairs. Sherlock waited until Lestrade had reached the front door before leaping into the air and clenching his fists triumphantly. He spun on his heel and lifted up Angelica by the waist, twirling her around as she mirrored his grin.

"Brilliant! Yes! Ah, four serial suicides, and now a note! Oh, it's Christmas!"

He set her down, grabbed Angelica's coat and tossed it to her. He picked up his coat and scarf. Angelica pulled on her trench coat; the soft dark grey material hugged her curves and ended just below her knees.

"Mrs. Hudson, Angelica and I'll be late. Might need some food," Sherlock called.

"I'm your landlady, dear, not your housekeeper," She replied whilst Charlie mouthed her exact words.

"Something cold will do. John, have a cup of tea, make yourself at home. Charlie, don't touch my cigarettes. I'll know. Don't wait up!" Sherlock said before following Angelica out the door and down the steps.

"Look at him, dashing about! My husband was just the same," Mrs. Hudson said causing Charlie to crinkle his nose in disgust. John grimaced but was slightly thankful for Charlie's reaction as well. Mrs. H continued. "But you're more the sitting-down type, I can tell. I'll make you that cuppa. You rest your leg."

John slammed his hand on his knee. "Damn my leg!" Charlie laughed as Mrs. Hudson turned around and stared at him in shock. "Sorry, I'm so sorry. It's just sometimes this bloody thing…" He bashes his leg with his cane.

"I understand, dear; I've got a hip." She turned towards the door again..

"Cup of tea'd be lovely, thank you."

"Just this once, dear. I'm not your housekeeper," Mrs. Hudson said as Charlie once again mouthed the words.

"Couple of biscuits too, if you've got 'em."

"Not your housekeeper!"

John picked up the newspaper on the table and begins to read the article about the apparent suicides. On the page were a photo of the victim and even a photo of D.I. Lestrade. Charlie looked up from his book and smiled softly, it wasn't often he got quiet company that wasn't his landlady or a blood relative. His smile vanished when he saw his father's presence return. Charlie may not be as intelligent as the rest of his family, but he definitely was not stupid. He was about to be left alone.

"You're a doctor. In fact you're an Army doctor," Sherlock stated.

"Yes." John stood to his feet and faced the consulting detective.

"Any good?"

"Very good," John said.

"Seen a lot of injuries, then; violent deaths."

"Mmm, yes."

"Bit of trouble too, I bet," Charlie mumbled more to himself than to John.

"Of course, yes. Enough for a lifetime. Far too much," John told them.

Sherlock smiled. "Wanna see some more?"

"Oh God, yes," John almost sighed in relief. He quickly followed Sherlock down the stairs. "Sorry, Mrs. Hudson, I'll skip the tea. Off out. Later, Charlie."

Mrs. Hudson was stood at the bottom of the stairs. Angelica was already outside hailing a cab. "All three of you?"

Sherlock had almost reached the front door but then turned and walked back towards her. "Impossible suicides? Four of them? There's no point sitting at home when there's finally something fun going on!" He took her by the shoulders and kissed her noisily on the cheek.

"Look at you, all happy. It's not decent." She smiled anyway.

"Who cares about decent? The game, Mrs. Hudson, is on!"

Charlie stood at the top of the stairs watching the conversation. Sherlock and John exited the flat, slamming the door closed behind me. Charlie sighed and leaned against the doorway. Mrs. Hudson looked up towards him.

"Dinner with me, love?" She asked him with a sad smile.

Charlie shook his head. "Nah. Thanks though, Mrs. H. I'll find something for myself. Your shows on tonight, enjoy it."

With that, Charlie turned and went back in the flat, shutting the door behind him. He slowly trudged down the hallway and pushed open his bedroom door. The room was divided in half, mirroring each other with the furniture; bed pressed into the far corner of the room with a dressed pushed against the foot of the bed, a desk next to the bed and a wardrobe against the wall to the dressers left. But, there was an obvious difference in the two sides.

The left side of the room was obviously Angelica's. The dresser and floor were scattered with various textbooks, notebooks, and science equipment. The blue sheets were perfectly made up.

The right side of the room was Charlie's. The blue bed spread was askew and the pillow had fallen to the floor. Stacks of sheet music and art supplies were on his dresser and a violin hung on its respected hook in the corner. Charlie grabbed his violin and bow and sat on the edge of his bed as he played.

Angelica sat in the middle of the backseat of the taxi with Sherlock and John on both her sides. Sherlock's eyes were trained on his phone as Angelica stared straight ahead, flipping her phone over in her hands repeatedly. John kept glancing towards the pair.

"Okay, you've got questions," Angelica broke his silence.

"Yeah, where are we going?" John said.

"Crime scene. Next?" Sherlock replied.

"Who are you? What do you do?"

Angelica raised an eyebrow. "What do you think?"

John spoke slowly and hesitantly. "I'd say private detective…"

"But?"

"But the police don't go to private detectives," John finished.

Sherlock and Angelica shared a look before Sherlock spoke. "I'm a consulting detective. Only one in the world. I invented the job." Angelica coughed causing Sherlock to roll his eyes before continuing to speak. "Angelica's my apprentice of sorts."

"What does that mean?"

"It means when the police are out of their depth, which is always, they consult me."

John raised an eyebrow. "The police don't consult amateurs."

Angelica shot him an annoyed look. "When I met you for the first time yesterday, I said, "Afghanistan or Iraq?" You looked surprised."

"Because Sherlock said the same thing. How did you know?"

"She didn't know, she saw," Sherlock said. "Your haircut, the way you hold yourself, says military. But your conversation as you entered the room said trained at Bart's, so Army doctor – obvious. Your face is tanned but no tan above the wrists. You've been abroad, but not sunbathing. Your limp's really bad when you walk but you don't ask for a chair when you stand, like you've forgotten about it, so it's at least partly psychosomatic. That says the original circumstances of the injury were traumatic. Wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan – Afghanistan or Iraq." He loudly clicked the 'k' sound at the end of the final word."

"You said I had a therapist." John said.

Angelic scuffed. "You've got a psychosomatic limp – of course you've got a therapist."

Sherlock nodded. "Then there's your brother."

"Hmm?"

Sherlock held out his hand. "Your phone." John hands it over. "It's expensive, e-mail enabled, MP3 player, but you're looking for a flatshare – you wouldn't waste money on this. It's a gift, then. Scratches. Not one, many over time. It's been in the same pocket as keys and coins. The man sitting next to me wouldn't treat his one luxury item like this, so it's had a previous owner. Next bit's easy. You know it already."

"The engraving."

 _Harry Watson_

 _From Clara_

 _xxx_

Angelica took the phone from her father and ran her thumb over the engraving before speaking herself. "Harry Watson: clearly a family member who's given you his old phone. Not your father, this is a young man's gadget. Could be a cousin, but you're a war hero who can't find a place to live. Unlikely you've got an extended family, certainly not one you're close to, so brother it is. Now, Clara. Who's Clara? Three kisses says it's a romantic attachment. The expense of the phone says wife, not girlfriend. She must have given it to him recently – this model's only six months old. Marriage in trouble then – six months on he's just given it away. If she'd left him, he would have kept it. People do – sentiment. But no, he wanted rid of it. He left her. He gave the phone to you: that says he wants you to stay in touch. You're looking for cheap accommodation, but you're not going to your brother for help: that says you've got problems with him. Maybe you liked his wife; maybe you don't like his drinking."

"How can you possibly know about the drinking?" John questioned.

Angelica smiled. "Shot in the dark. Good one, though. Power connection: tiny little scuff marks around the edge of it. Every night he goes to plug it in to charge but his hands are shaking. You never see those marks on a sober man's phone; never see a drunk's without them."

She handed the phone back to him.

"There you go, you see – you were right," Sherlock said.

"I was right? Right about what?"

Angelica spoke whilst looking out the window on her father's side as she nervously bit her lip. "The police don't consult amateurs." Sherlock mimicked her actions.

"That ... was amazing," John marveled.

Sherlock and Angelica's heads spun around to look at him. Neither responded for a solid four seconds due to the shock caused by his reaction.

"Do you think so?"

"Of course it was. It was extraordinary; it was quite extraordinary," John said.

"That's not what people normally say," Angelica grinned.

"What do people normally say?"

"'Piss off'!" Sherlock smiled briefly at John, who grinned and turned away to look out of the window as the journey continued.

Twenty minutes had passed before Mrs. Hudson came knocking on Charlie's door. He froze, his bow hovering just over the strings.

"Is he here?" He asked.

"Yes, dear. He won't take no for an answer." She said.

Charlie sighed as he loosened his bow and tossed it onto his bed. He placed the instrument back on its hook as he headed out the door. Mrs. Hudson moved out of his way as he exited his bedroom and headed down the stairs. A black car was waiting outside of the flat and he didn't question who was inside before pulling open the back door. Charlie sat down next to his uncle before pulling the door closed.

His uncle silently held out a black knitted hat causing a small smile to appear on Charlie's face. He mumbled a thank you as he pulled on, hiding his curls from the view of the world.

The trio finally arrived at Brixton and exited the cab. Sherlock paid the driver before leading his two companions towards the yellow tape.

"Did we get anything wrong?" Angelica asked.

"Harry and me don't get on, never have. Clara and Harry split up three months ago and they're getting a divorce; and Harry is a drinker," John confirmed causing her to smile.

"Spot on, then. I didn't expect to be right about everything."

"And Harry's short for Harriet."

Sherlock stopped dead in his tracks as Angelica let out a rather unattractive snort.

"Harry's your sister."

John and Angelica continued onward as the doctor spoke. "Look, what exactly am I supposed to be doing here?"

"Sister!"

"No, seriously, what am I doing here?"

Sherlock, exasperatedly, continued to walk. "There's always something."

They approached the tape and were greeted by a black woman with well-kept curly hair and a pretty face.

"Hello, freak. I see you brought your freakish offspring as well again," The woman said.

Sherlock instinctively placed himself between the woman and Angelica when Angelica tensed at the woman's words. Angelica wasn't as unaffected by them as Sherlock was yet. "I'm here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade."

"Why?"

"I was invited."

"Why?"

"I think he wants me to take a look," Sherlock said sarcastically.

"Well, you know what I think, don't you?" She remarked.

Sherlock lifted the tape and he and Angelica ducked underneath it. "Always, Sally." He breathed in through his nose and Angelica smirked as he began to get his revenge for insulting his daughter. "I even know you didn't make it home last night. "

"I don't ..." She looked at John. "Er, who's this?"

"Colleague of mine, Doctor Watson," Sherlock introduced. He turned to John and introduced to two, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Doctor Watson, Sergeant Sally Donovan. Old friend."

"A colleague? How do you get a colleague?!" She was actually shocked. "What, did he follow you home?"

"Would it be better if I just waited and…" John pointed towards the pavement just across from the crime scene.

Angelica lifted the tape for him. "No."

As John walked under the tape, Donovan lifted her radio up her to face. "Freaks are here. Bringing them in."

Donovan led the trio towards the house. As she does so, Sherlock and Angelica look around. As they approach the house, a man in blue plastic looking overalls exits the building.

"Ah, Anderson. Here we are again," Sherlock gave him a sarcastic smile.

Anderson looked at him with distaste. "It's a crime scene. I don't want it contaminated. Are we clear on that?"

Sherlock took another deep breath through his nose. "Quite clear. And is your wife away for long?"

"Oh, don't pretend you worked that out. Somebody told you that."

"Your deodorant told me that."

"My deodorant?"

Sherlock wore a quirky expression as Angelic smirked. "It's for men."

"Well, of course it's for men! I'm wearing it!"

"So's Sergeant Donovan," Sherlock pointed out. Anderson looked round in shock at Donovan. Sherlock sniffed pointedly. "Ooh, and I think it just vaporized. May we go in?"

Anderson rounded on him angrily, "Now look: whatever you're trying to imply…"

"I'm not implying anything," Sherlock said and headed past Donovan towards the front door with Angelica hot on his trail. "I'm sure Sally came round for a nice little chat, and just happened to stay over. And I assume she scrubbed your floors, going by the state of her knees."

John goes past Donovan and briefly looks down at her knees. When they enter the house police are all over the place and table is set up with stacks of the blue overalls Anderson was wearing. Lestrade was stood next to the staircase wearing some overalls as well. Sherlock pointed at the clothes. "You need to wear one of these."

"Who's this?"

Sherlock look off his gloves. "He's with me."

"But who is he?"

"He said he's with us," Angelica stressed.

John took off his jacket and picked up a pair of overalls as he watched Angelica and Sherlock pull on pairs of latex gloves. "Aren't you gonna put one on?" He motions to the overalls. Sherlock gave him a pointed look causing John to shake his head.

"So where are we?" Angelica asked.

Lestrade picked up another pair of latex gloves. "Upstairs."

Charlie quietly sat across from his uncle in the fancy restaurant. He pushed the pasta around on his plate as his uncle continued to talk about Charlie's future. His uncle was very persistent when it came to Charlie's education. He often went over looked by his father due to Angelica's intelligence being so much greater than Charlie could ever live up to. His uncle made it certain that Charlie never fell behind and made it possible for him to attend the best private arts school in the country.

Even with his uncle's constant encouraging words – however monotone they were – Charlie couldn't help but despise the thought of basing his life around music. He longed to hold the intelligence that his sister possessed and he knew deep down that his uncle wished Charlie held that intelligence rather than the talent he was gifted with.

"Something's bothering you," His uncle pointed out. "But you don't wish to speak of it."

Charlie chuckled dryly as he stopped moving his pasta about on his plate. "You ever get tired of having to fuss over the stupid one?"

"Sherlock?"

Charlie shot his uncle a cold glare as he corrected him. "Me."

"Charles-"

"My name's _Charlie."_

His uncle took a deep breath. "Charlie… you may not hold the Holmes intelligence but that does not make you a goldfish. No, you are not your sister; but, simultaneously you are her. She takes advantage of the deductions her mind produces just as you take advantage of a fortissimo run of sixteenth notes or an expensive set of acrylic paints. Sentiment is not an advantage, nephew dear, so stop pawning for his attention."

Charlie shifted his gaze back down to his plate. He continued to push the food around as he propped his left elbow on the table, fiddling with the edge of his hat.


	2. Chapter 2

Lestrade led the trio up the circular staircase. He and John were wearing overalls with white cotton coverings over their shoes, and latex gloves.

"I can give you two minutes," Lestrade said.

Sherlock's voice was casual. "May need longer."

"Her name's Jennifer Wilson according to her credit cards. We're running them now for contact details. Hasn't been here long. Some kids found her," Lestrade explained.

He led them into the empty room, omitting a rocking horse in the far corner. Emergency portable lighting had been set up by the police. Scaffolding poles held up part of the ceiling near where a couple of large holes had been knocked through one of the walls. A woman's body was lying face down on the bare floorboards in the middle of the room. She was wearing a bright pink overcoat and high-heeled pink shoes. Her hands were flat on the floor either side of her head.

Angelica tilted her head to the side as she circled the body before bringing her attention to her surroundings. Sherlock took a few steps towards the body and held up a hand as he examined it from a distance. John face was filled with remorse as he gazed at the woman's body. Lestrade continued to glance between the two Holmes.

"Shut up," Sherlock snapped.

Lestrade's brow shot up. "I didn't say anything."

"You were thinking. It's annoying," Angelica chimed in as she slowly turned around and stared down at the body.

Her face was emotionless as she took in the cadaver. The word 'Rache' was carved into the floorboard, appearing to have been done with the victims fingernails which were broken. It would have been painful; this word would obviously prove to be of use to the case.

"Not German," Angelica mumbled to herself as she ran through the list of options for the words meaning. "Rachel?" She then mumbled.

"More likely," Sherlock responded as he crouched next to the corpse. Angelica mirrored his actions. Sherlock ran his fingers under a fold in the back of her coat. When he drew them back he gazed down at wetness on his fingertips before holding his hand out for his daughter to examine.

Angelica reached into the woman's pocket and pulled out a white folding umbrella. She ran her hand under the material and when she pulled back her hand her fingertips came back dry. She showed her hand to Sherlock.

John and Lestrade watched the pair work. Lestrade's expression was impatient and hopeful whilst John's was filled with curiosity and amazement. Angelica and Sherlock examined the body together, seeming to have a silent conversation as they did. The pair was completely in sync with one another. Sherlock and Angelica shared a pleased look before standing to their feet.

"Got anything?" Lestrade asked.

"Not much," Sherlock said as he pulled off his gloves and took a few steps away from the body.

Angelica was silent as she pocketed the latex gloves and removed her mobile phone from her pocket and began typing furiously.

"She's German. 'Rache': it's German for 'revenge'. She could be trying to tell us something…" Anderson said from the doorway.

Sherlock swiftly approached the doorway and shut the door in the man's face as he responded. "Yes, thank you for your input."

As he slammed the door shut, Angelica was approaching the men. Sherlock returned to her side and stood behind her. He gazed over her shoulder at her mobile phone.

"So she's German?" Lestrade asked.

"No. She's from out of town, though. Intended to stay in London for one night," Angelica glanced over her shoulder at Sherlock. He smiled as she paused for a moment before continuing to speak, "before returning home to Cardiff." Angelica pocketed her phone.

"So far, so obvious," Sherlock said.

"Sorry – obvious?" John questioned.

"What about the message, though?"

Angelica ignored the inspectors question and looked towards John. "Doctor Watson, what do you think?"

His brow furrowed. "Of the message?"

"Of the body," Sherlock said. "You're a medical man."

"Wait, no, we have a whole team right outside," Lestrade insisted.

"They won't work with me," Sherlock hissed.

"I'm breaking every rule letting you in here, especially her," Lestrade said.

"Yes ... because you need me." Sherlock stressed.

Lestrade stared at him for a moment before lower his hand and running a hand over his face. "Yes, I do. God help me."

Angelica smiled and gestured to the body. "Doctor Watson."

"Hm?" He looked up from the body to Sherlock and then turned his head towards Lestrade, silently seeking his permission.

Lestrade sighed and headed towards the door. "Oh, do as he says. Help yourself. Anderson, keep everyone out for a couple of minutes."

The trio approached the body. Angelica and Sherlock squated on one side of the cadaver as John painful lowered himself onto his knees next to it.

"Well?"

John whispered. "What am I doing here?"

"Helping me make a point," Sherlock said.

"I'm supposed to be helping you pay the rent," John reminded.

Angelica chuckled softly. "Yeah, well, this is more fun."

"Fun? There's a woman lying dead. You're a teenager and you find a murder fun?" John interrogated.

"Perfectly sound analysis, but I was hoping you'd go deeper," Sherlock ignored the comment about Angelica.

Lestrade reentered the room and stood just in the doorway. John leant closer to the body and sniffed before lifting the woman's right hand and examining her skin. "Yeah ... Asphyxiation, probably. Passed out, choked on her own vomit. Can't smell any alcohol on her. It could have been a seizure; possibly drugs."

Sherlock gazed blankly at him. "You know what it was. You've read the papers."

John's brow furrowed. "What, she's one of the suicides? The fourth ...?"

Angelica rolled her eyes. Had he even been present for the conversation back at the flat?

"Sherlock – two minutes, I said. I need anything you've got," Lestrade said.

Sherlock bounced up to his feet. "Victim is in her late thirties. Professional person, going by her clothes; I'm guessing something in the media, going by the frankly alarming shade of pink. Travelled from Cardiff today, intending to stay in London for one night. It's obvious from the size of her suitcase."

Angelica quickly stood and stepped over the woman. She offered a hand to John which he gladly accepted.

"Suitcase?"

John looked around the room for the suitcase. Angelica copied his actions.

Angelica spoke. "Suitcase, yes. She's been married at least ten years, but not happily. She's had a string of lovers but none of them knew she was married."

Lestrade shook his head. "Oh, for God's sake, if you're just making this up…"

Sherlock pointed towards her left hand. "Her wedding ring. Ten years old at least. The rest of her jewelry has been regularly cleaned, but not her wedding ring. State of her marriage right there. The inside of the ring is shinier than the outside – that means it's regularly removed. The only polishing it gets is when she works it off her finger. It's not for work; look at her nails. She doesn't work with her hands, so what or rather who does she remove her rings for? Clearly not one lover; she'd never sustain the fiction of being single over that amount of time, so more likely a string of them. Simple."

John stared admiringly at Sherlock. "That's brilliant." Sherlock and Angelica rounded on him. "Sorry."

"Cardiff?"

"It's obvious, isn't it?" Sherlock said.

"Not to them, Father," Angelica noted.

Sherlock glanced between the other two. "Dear God, what is it like in your funny little brains? It must be so boring."

Angelica turned back to the body. "Her coat: it's slightly damp. She's been in heavy rain in the last few hours. No rain anywhere in London in that time. Under her coat collar is damp, too. She's turned it up against the wind. She's got an umbrella in her left-hand pocket but it's dry and unused: not just wind, strong wind – too strong to use her umbrella. We know from her suitcase that she was intending to stay overnight, so she must have come a decent distance but she can't have travelled more than two or three hours because her coat still hasn't dried. So, where has there been heavy rain and strong wind within the radius of that travel time?" She fished her mobile out of her pocket and showed the webpage she was looking at earlier to the two men. "Cardiff."

"That's fantastic!" John exclaimed.

Sherlock turned to him and spoke in a low voice. "D'you know you do that out loud?"

"Sorry. I'll shut up."

"No, it's ... fine," Angelica said slowly.

"Why d'you keep saying suitcase?" Lestrade asked.

It was Sherlock's turn to spin around the room in search for the case. "Yes, where is it? She must have had a phone or an organizer. Find out who Rachel is."

"She was writing 'Rachel'?"

Angelica rolled her eyes. "No, she was leaving an angry note in German! Of course she was writing Rachel; no other word it can be. Question is: why did she wait until she was dying to write it?"

"How d'you know she had a suitcase?" Lestrade asked.

Sherlock pointed down at the body. "Back of the right leg: tiny splash marks on the heel and calf, not present on the left. She was dragging a wheeled suitcase behind her with her right hand. Don't get that splash pattern any other way. Smallish case, going by the spread. Case that size, woman this clothes-conscious: could only be an overnight bag, so we know she was staying one night." He squatted down by the woman's body and examined the backs of her legs more closely. "Now, where is it? What have you done with it?"

"There wasn't a case."

Sherlock slowly raised is head to look at Lestrade whilst Angelica's head snapped up quickly. "Say that again."

"There wasn't a case. There was never any suitcase."

Immediately Sherlock straightened up and heads for the door. He called out to the rest of the police officers in the house. "Suitcase! Did anyone find a suitcase? Was there a suitcase in this house?"

Angelica, John, and Lestrade follow after Sherlock.

"Sherlock, there was no case!" Lestrade called down the stairs.

Sherlock began to walk slower down the stairs, but still kept walking. "But they take the poison themselves; they chew, swallow the pills themselves. There are clear signs. Even you lot couldn't miss them."

"Right, yeah, thanks! And ...?"

"It's murder, all of them. I don't know how, but they're not suicides, they're killings – serial killings. We've got ourselves a serial killer. I love those. There's always something to look forward to." Sherlock spoke excitedly as Angelica let out an irritated sigh.

John glanced over at her, unsure of her sudden mood change. A few moments ago she was excited as her father about the case; but, her demeanor showed that she knew something he did not.

"Why are you saying that?" Lestrade asked.

Sherlock paused and shouted to the others again. "Her case! Come on, where is her case? Did she eat it?! Someone else was here, and they took her case." He spoke more quietly to himself. "So the killer must have driven her here; forgot the case was in the car."

"She could have checked into a hotel, left her case there," John suggested.

Angelica shook her head. "No, she never got to the hotel. Look at her hair. She color-coordinates her lipstick and her shoes. She'd never have left any hotel with her hair still looking like that."

Sherlock's eyes widen in realization before he quickly stormed out of the house. Lestrade and John looked towards Angelica for an explanation.

"The killer made a mistake. Just look at her," Angelica said and both men stared blankly at her. "Pink. The case is pink. Statistically speaking the killer is more likely to be male, meaning he can't walk around with a pink case without raising eyebrows. Goodbye, Lestrade."

With that, she headed down the stairs. Lestrade shook his head and headed back into the room, leaving John to follow after the teenager. She was waiting at the bottom of the stairs for him and glared at the officer that bumped into him on the stairs and never stopped to apologize. John clenched onto the railing to keep from falling over. John smiled when he saw Angelica had waited for him. He changed out of the overalls and pulled his coat back on before the two headed out of the building.

"He's gone," Donovan stated as she saw the pair walk towards the tape.

"Who, Sherlock Holmes?" John asked.

"Yeah, he just took off. He does that," Angelica shrugged.

John looked up at Angelica. "Is he coming back?"

"Didn't look like it." Donovan said.

"Right." John looked around, unsure of what to do. If anything, he now felt responsible for Angelica, seeing as her father had abandoned her at a crime scene. "Right ... Yes. Sorry, where am I?"

"Brixton," Angelica answered. "We can get a cab down by the main road so that you don't have to walk all the way back to Bakers Street."

She held up the yellow tape for him to walk under after passing under it herself.

"He doesn't have friends. So who are you?" Donovan interrogated. Angelica shot her a dark look.

"I'm ... I'm nobody. I just met him," John explained.

"Okay, bit of advice then: stay away from that guy," Donovan said. Angelica bit her lip and turned to walk towards the main road. John could catch up. "You know why he's here? He's not paid or anything. He likes it. He gets off on it. The weirder the crime, the more he gets off. And you know what? One day just showing up won't be enough. One day we'll be standing round a body and Sherlock Holmes'll be the one that put it there. If not him, it'll be her," She nodded towards Angelica's retreating dorm.

Angelica took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment when she heard the Sergeant's words. Her phone buzzed and she glanced down at the message.

"Why would either of them do that? Besides, she's just a kid." John said.

"Because they're psychopaths. And psychopaths get bored," Donovan said. Lestrade called out for Donovan. "Stay away from Sherlock Holmes" With that, she turned and walked back to the building.

Angelica mumbled to herself. "Sociopath."

She stood a good ten feet away, waiting for John. He caught up to her in a moment and then the two headed off down the street.

"Did you hear what she said?" John asked her.

"Yes." Angelica's voice was monotone as she stared straight ahead.

"And?"

"She's an idiot. I'm a high functioning sociopath. Now, any minute now we will walk by a phone booth and it will start to ring. You are to answer the phone and do as instructed, although, he won't give you much of an option. I'll see you back at the flat, Dr. Watson," Angelica said before taking off in a sprint.

John froze in his tracks as he pondered her words and watched the teenagers retreating form. Once Angelica was several blocks away from John she slowed her pace and hailed a cab back to Bakers Street. When the cab rolled up to Bakers Street, it pulled up behind an expensive looking black car. Angelica paid the cabbie and then exited the vehicle. All the while, she watched her twin brother exit the car in front of her. He now wore a black beanie. She rolled her eyes. Charlie had always been their uncle's favorite.

The twins stood on the sidewalk, silently staring at each other. Neither knew that the other was envious of the other as they approached the flat. They knocked on the door, both having forgotten their keys. Mrs. Hudson let them in smiling as she did so, asking how their trips out were. The twins ignored her and headed for the stairs. Mrs. Hudson smiled to herself and headed back into her flat.

Charlie headed straight for their bedroom as Angelica collapsed onto the coach. She threw an arm over her eyes in an attempt to sleep for a brief moment. Charlie was pulling his mattress up, revealing a box of nicotine patches and a handful of cigarettes he had swiped from his father's secret stash. He pulled two patches before letting the mattress fall back onto the bedframe. He fell back onto his bed and put the patches on his left forearm before draping the same arm over his eyes and drifting off to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

When John returned to 221B he wasn't sure what to expect. Sherlock was sprawled out on the couch with his hand pressing down on the nicotine patches on his arm. Angelica sat crisscross in his arm chair, nursing a mug of tea.

"What are you doing?"

"Nicotine patch. Helps me think," Sherlock explained. Angelica glanced down the hallway towards her and Charlie's room. Sherlock noticed the look but elected to ignore it. He showed John the three patches. "Impossible to sustain a smoking habit in London these days. Bad news for brain work."

"It's good news for breathing," John said as he went further into the room.

"Oh, breathing. Breathing's boring," Sherlock responded causing Angelica to raise an eyebrow and John to frown.

"Is that three patches?"

Sherlock pressed his hands together in a prayer position under his chin. He closed his eyes. "It's a three-patch problem."

John looked towards Angelica who only turned her head away and gazed into the empty kitchen as she brought the mug up to her lips.

"Well?" John asked.

Neither Holmes responded.

"You asked me to come. I'm assuming it's important."

Sherlock didn't respond for a moment and Angelica glanced towards him. His eyes suddenly shot open. "Oh, yeah, of course. Can I borrow your phone?"

"My phone?"

"Don't wanna use mine or hers. Always a chance that the numbers will be recognized. They're on the website."

"Mrs. Hudson's got a phone," John noted.

Angelica shrugged. "Yeah, she's downstairs. I tried shouting but she didn't hear."

John spoke with hint of anger in his voice. "I was the other side of London. You left me on the other side of London." He looked at Angelica this time. She merely shrugged.

"There was no hurry," Sherlock insisted.

John's mouth was agape as he looked at Sherlock. Finally, he gave in, dug his phone out of his pocket and handed it over. "Here."

Sherlock's eyes were still closed as he held out his right hand expectantly. John glowered at him before walking over and slapping the phone into his hand. Sherlock returned to his previous prayer position with the phone now between this hands.

"So what's this about – the case?" John asked.

"Her case."

"Her case?"

Sherlock opened his eyes. "Her suitcase, yes, obviously. The murderer took her suitcase. First big mistake."

"Okay, he took her case. So?" John nodded.

Sherlock looked towards Angelica. "It's no use, there's no other way. We'll have to risk it." He held the phone out to Angelica. "On my desk there's a number. I want you to send the text."

Angelica placed her mug of tea onto the table and took the phone from his hands. She peered over at John curiously. "What's wrong?"

John took a seat in the arm chair across from where Angelica had just been sitting. "Just met a friend of yours."

Sherlock frowned in confusion. "A friend?"

"An enemy."

Sherlock relaxed. "Which one?"

"Umbrella man," Angelica said. "I was informed you were going to meet while you were speaking to Sergeant Donovan. Did you take the money?"

"Do people have arch-enemies?" John asked.

Sherlock shrugged. "But, did you take the money?"

"No."

Angelica frowned. "Pity. Could have split the fee. Better yet, put it towards the rent. Charlie doesn't make enough."

John's brow furrowed at the comment. Did Sherlock not have a reliable source of income? "Who is he?"

"The most dangerous man you've ever met and not my problem right now. On my desk, the number," Sherlock reminded his daughter. She rolled her eyes before grabbing the number and quickly sending the text message.

"Yay. I love texting murderers," Angelica smiled before picking up her tea and sitting down on her proper place on the couch. Sherlock had stood and walked over the table and into the kitchen.

"Wait, you texted Jennifer Wilson's phone?" John asked.

Angelica nodded and watched as Sherlock brought a pink case into the living room. Sherlock grabbed one of the dining chairs and placed it between the two armchairs. He set the case down in the chair as John looked at the case with wide eyes.

"That's ... that's the pink lady's case. That's Jennifer Wilson's case," John realized.

"Obviously," Charlie said as he emerged from the hallway. His voice of casual and joking. John blinked at his sudden reappearance. "Didn't even go to the crime scene and I was able to piece things together faster than that. Shame on you, Dr. Watson."

With that, Charlie entered the kitchen and began rummaging through the cabinets. He soon realized they had no food and disappeared from the flat. Angelica could hear him knocking on Mrs. Hudson's door, asking if she had any spare biscuits he could snag. John continued to stare at Sherlock.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Oh, perhaps I should mention: I didn't kill her."

"I never said you did." John paused before continuing to speak, thinking back to his earlier conversation as he was leaving the crime scene. "Do people usually assume you're the murderer?"

Sherlock smirked. "Now and then, yes"

"How did you get this?" John asked.

"By looking," Sherlock answered.

"Where?"

"Five minute cars ride radius of Lauriston Gardens. He dug through the skips. Didn't you notice the smell?" Angelica said, cutting off Sherlock who was about to go into a long winded explanation.

"Pink. You got all that because you realized the case would be pink?" John asked.

"Dr. Watson, it had to be pink. You saw the woman," Angelica scuffed.

"Why didn't I think of that?"

"Because you're an idiot," Sherlock said causing John to gape at him.

"Don't worry," Charlie said as he reentered the flat with several biscuits in his hands. "I am too. You'll get used to it after a bit. Practically everyone is in their eyes."

John nodded.

"Now, look. Do you see what's missing?" Charlie asked.

"From the case? How could I?"

"Her phone. Where's her mobile phone? There was no phone on the body, there's no phone in the case. We know she had one – that's her number there that Angelica just texted it. You'll catch on to the deductions soon enough," Charlie said as he headed towards the hallway. "She has a string of lovers and she's careful about it. She never leaves her phone at home."

"When were you told about the case?" Sherlock asked.

"I could hear the two of you talking a mile a minute through the walls when you came home from getting the suitcase. You were shouting at each other to think harder," Charlie shrugged before heading back down the hallway.

"Why did she just send that text?" John asked after Angelica had handed him his mobile back.

"Well, the question is: where is her phone now?" Sherlock responded.

"She could have lost it," John suggested.

"Yes, or ...?" Angelica pressed.

John spoke slowly. "The murderer ... You think the murderer has the phone?"

"Maybe she left it when she left her case," Sherlock said, "Maybe he took it from her for some reason. Either way, the balance of probability is the murderer has her phone."

"Sorry, what are we doing? Did Angel just text a murderer?! What good will that do?" John questioned.

As if on cue, his phone began to ring. He picked it up and looked at the screen. The Caller I.D. read:

 _(withheld)  
calling_

John looked across the room at Sherlock and Angelica. Angelica had curled back up on the coach with her tea whilst Sherlock had sat back down in his armchair.

"A few hours after his last victim, and now he receives a text that can only be from her. If somebody had just found that phone they'd ignore a text like that, but the murderer…" He paused as the phone ceased ringing, "would panic."

Sherlock stood to his feet, flipped the case closed and then headed towards the door. He picked up his coat and pulled it over his shoulders. Angelica stayed put until Sherlock threw her coat at her and nearly knocked the drink from her hands. She rolled her eyes as she placed her mug on the table and proceeded to pull on her coat head towards the door.

Angelica slipped out into the cool London night and turned right down the pavement. She kept here walking gate shorter than usual as to allow time for both her father and Dr. Watson to catch up with her. After a moment, Sherlock caught up to his daughter. Shortly after, Dr. Watson caught up as well, accompanied by Charlie.

Charlie matched Angelica's walking pace as they walked in front of their father and the doctor. Charlie was wearing his ear bugs and Angelica could hear the rock tune he was listening to. She couldn't quite place why Charlie had followed them. Everyone was always an open book to Angelica Holmes -everyone omitting her brother.

John and Sherlock spoke as they walked, but Angelica tuned them out as she thought over the case. Something in the back of her mind kept distracting her – Charlie. Something was off about him and she couldn't place what it was. Maybe she should ask father. He would have noticed. She shook her head. Sherlock doesn't give Charlie a second glance most times. Their uncle was the better option.

"Hungry?"

Angelica finally tuned into the conversation at the mention of food. She hadn't eaten since yesterday and even though food was bad news for brainwork, it was good news for bodily functions. Charlie's ears perked up at the word and he removed his ear buds.

Angelica and Charlie slipped into the familiar restaurant: Angelo's. The twins ate here often when Sherlock was off on cases that Angelica was banned from. Mrs. Hudson would often feed them when Sherlock was out, but they knew that she wouldn't be around forever. They found other ways to survive and that meant mooching off their father's former clients.

Sherlock and John were right behind them as they entered. The server recognized them right away and led them to a table near the window. The server removed the reserved sign as Angelica and Charlie slid into the booth.

"Thank you, Billy," Sherlock said as he slid off his coat.

Angelica did the same and set it in the seat before sitting down properly. John sat next to Charlie with his back to the window whilst Sherlock sat next to Angelica. John took off his jacket as well.

"Twenty-two Northumberland Street. Keep your eyes on it," Sherlock instructed his daughter.

"He isn't just gonna ring the doorbell, though, is he? He'd need to be mad," John said.

Charlie chuckled. "He has killed four people."

"Okay."

The manager came over to the table with a bright smile on his face. He's a big, Italian man with large muscles with a friendly demeanor about him. He shakes Sherlock's hand. "Sherlock. Anything on the menu, whatever you want, free." He places menus in front of Sherlock and John. "On the house, for you, the twins, and for your date. The usually, kids?"

"Please," Charlie smiles as Angelica gives a curt nod.

Sherlock looks towards John. "Do you want to eat?"

John was too busy looking at Angelo in shock. "I'm not his date."

"This man got me off a murder charge," Angelo tells him. "Him and his beautiful daughter. She was barely up to my waist then. Look at her now!"

Angelica gave Angelo a tight smile and Charlie had to bite his cheek at his sister's expression.

"This is Angelo," Sherlock introduced. John and Angelo shook hands. "Three years ago I successfully proved to Lestrade at the time of a particularly vicious triple murder that Angelo was in a completely different part of town, house-breaking."

"He cleared my name," Angelo praised.

"We cleared it a bit," Angelica said. "Anything happening opposite?"

"Nothing." He looked at John again. "But for this man, I'd have gone to prison."

"You did go to prison"

Angelo smiled at John. "I'll get a candle for the table. It's more romantic."

John spoke towards the man's retreating form. "I'm not his date!"

Sherlock put his own menu down onto the table. "You may as well eat. We might have a long wait."

Angelo came back with a small glass bowl containing a lit tea-light. He put it onto the table and gave John a thumbs-up before turning and walking away again.

"Thanks," John said slightly annoyed.

A few moments later, a server came by and took John's order after giving Angelica a mug of tea and Charlie a glass of water. It made John wonder just how often the pair came here.

"Did you two cut school today?" John asked. "It's just, it was the middle of the day when I met you two. Shouldn't you have been in school?"

"I have a degree in Criminology and Chemistry already; but, Scotland Yard won't hire a minor," Angelica explained. John nodded slowly before shifting his gaze to the boy next to him.

"Private arts school. We've always got random holidays. This one is for some composer's birthday or whatever. I go back tomorrow," Charlie explained and shrugged his shoulders. He took a sip of his drink.

A few minutes later, the server returned with their food. Angelica had a spinach alfredo dish, Charlie had lasagna, and John had spaghetti. Sherlock didn't eat, only kept his eyes trained on the building across the street.

"People don't have arch-enemies," John said out of the blue.

Charlie froze for a moment and glanced towards Sherlock. It took him a moment, but Sherlock responded to John's remark. "I'm sorry?"

"In real life. There are no arch-enemies in real life. Doesn't happen," John expanded.

Sherlock nodded and then fized his gaze back out the window, disinterestedly. "Doesn't it? Sounds a bit dull."

"So who did I meet?"

"What do real people have, then, in their 'real lives'?" Sherlock avoided the question.

The twins shared a knowing look which caused John to flinch slightly. Their appearances where almost identical in that moment.

"Friends; people they know; people they like; people they don't like ... Girlfriends, boyfriends," John said.

The twins visibly tensed before springing into action. Charlie quickly shoved some food in his mouth and Angelica took a long sip from her tea.

"Yes, well, as I was saying – dull," Sherlock shrugged.

"You don't have a girlfriend, then? Ex-wife?" John glanced between the twins and Sherlock.

"No, not really my area." Sherlock answered.

"Then how were they-"

"Our mother's a drug addicted rapist," Angelica's voice was monotone. "Not something anyone of his intellect would ever pawn after- or anyway, actually."

John's eyes widened for a moment before he realized Sherlock's earlier statement. "Oh, right. D'you have a boyfriend?" Sherlock's head snapped around to look at him. "Which is fine, by the way."

"I know it's fine."

John smiled to try and break the tension. "So you've got a boyfriend then?"

"No." Sherlock replied.

"I do," Charlie grinned ear to ear.

Angelica's brow furrowed. "No you don't. I haven't threatened him. He doesn't count."

Charlie rolled his eyes. "Uncle beat you to it."

"Uncle aside, _I_ haven't threatened him. He doesn't count." Angelica looked towards Sherlock. "Tell him I'm right."

"Blonde that walked you home yesterday?" Sherlock asked. Charlie nodded. "Break it off. He's been going out with you as a joke. He's actually seeing the blonde girl in your maths class."

Charlie's face went blank before he shifted his gaze down to his food.

John's smile became fixed and awkward. "Right. Okay. You're unattached. Like me. Good."

Sherlock seemed to run through John's statement before speaking again. He started off slow, but by the end he seemed to be rambling. "John, um ... I think you should know that I consider myself married to my work, and while I'm flattered by your interest, I'm really not looking for any…"

John quickly interrupted him. "No." He cleared his throat. "No, I'm not asking. No. I'm just saying, it's all fine. Also, um, sorry, Charlie."

Charlie shook his head and took a deep breath. Sherlock turned his gaze back out to the street as John turned head away from the Holmes', trying to grasp what had just happened. Angelica sat up straighter in her seat, tilting her head to the side as she examined Charlie.

Slumped shoulders. Avoiding eye contact. Disinterest in food. Heavy breaths.

Charlie glanced up at Angelica and just like that her previous observations vanished. He sat up straight and looked her in the eyes as he took a bite of his food. Angelica's brow furrowed. Charlie raised an eyebrow as if questioning her confused expression.

"Look across the street. Taxi."

John twisted around to look at the taxi. Its rear end was facing the restaurant when Angelica looked over at it. Charlie knew better than to turn around.

"Stopped. Nobody getting in, and nobody getting out," Sherlock said. "Why a taxi? Oh, that's clever. Is it clever? Why is it clever?"

John raised an eyebrow. "That's him?"

"Don't stare," Charlie said as he grasped John by the shoulder and turned him back around. "Looks to suspicious. You'll catch on."

Sherlock quickly stood up and pulled on his coat. Angelica was quick to follow him out the door. Charlie looked sadly down at his unfinished meal. John looked down at his own meal and swore before grabbing his coat and following after the detectives, completely forgetting about his cane. Charlie considered his options before following as well.

Sherlock and Angelica quickly analyzed the quickest route to stop the car. However, they didn't consider their safety as they took it. This resulted in two cars nearly hitting them and Sherlock rolling over the hood of one of them. John and Charlie were apologizing for their actions as they went along.

At some point, they stopped, Sherlock realizing they weren't going to catch the cab at this rate.

"I've got the cab number," John told them.

Charlie looked towards Sherlock and Angelica expectantly, but replied to John. "Good for you."

Sherlock and Angelica brought their fingers up to their temples and shut their eyes as they thought. Charlie knew that both of them had memorized the map of London. He could still remember the day he tried to teach both Charlie and Angelica to remember it. Angelica picked right up on it; however, Charlie couldn't get past remembering anything that didn't run through Bakers Street.

"Right turn, one way, roadworks, traffic lights," Sherlock mumbled.

"Bus lane, pedestrian crossing, left turn only, traffic lights." Angelica said.

Their eyes snapped open and they quickly took off running. They glanced towards a building under construction and quickly headed towards it. Sherlock moved a man heading towards the entrance out of their way and the man cried out in protest. John and Charlie chased after the pair. John raised an apologetic hand whilst Charlie apologized as they passed him.

The four head up a spiral staircase and get out onto the roof. Each Holmes took two stairs at a time and John struggled to keep up. Damn the Holmes family and their extremely long legs. They reached the edge of the roof and easily leapt across to the next building. The four scurried across to hop to the next building and the trio of Holmes' made the jump with ease. John paused for a moment, examining the gap, unsure if he would be able to make the greater distance with his shorter legs.

"Come on, John. We're losing him!" Charlie encouraged with a wicked grin. It wasn't often he got to tag along on a case with Sherlock and Angelica.

John took a few steps back before making a running jump to the other ledge. Charlie's eyes widened as John did so and he quickly rushed back over to the ledge. John's eyes widened as he missed the edge of the building with his feet. He barely managed to grab onto the ledge with his hands. Charlie scrambled to help the army doctor up.

"Can't have you dying on me. I need someone normal around the flat," Charlie joked as he patted John's back. He then quickly followed after his family with John in close pursuit.

They headed down the stairs of the building and out onto the busy streets. They ran down the pavement and John's eyes caught on the same cab from earlier, but it soon disappeared around the corner.

"Ah, no!" Sherlock gritted his teeth. Without delay he turns down an alleyway. "This way."

John had turned left in persuade of the taxi.

Charlie tripped over his own feet trying to turn around and quickly grabbed John by the collar.

"Sorry." John said.

The quickly take off again and once again, Sherlock and Angelica are almost hit by a car, but finally they intercept the cab and Angelica throws herself out into the street, causing the cab driver to slam on their breaks as Angelica crashes into the hood of the car. Sherlock reached into his coat pocket and produced a D.I. badge and flashed it at the driver.

"Police! Open her up!"

Sherlock panted heavily as he opened the rear door of the cab. A brunette man stared up at them with a rather anxious expression causing Angelica to groan and walk over to her brother. She leant her head against his shoulder and took deep breaths. Charlie wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

"No." Sherlock said.

"No shit," Angelica mumbled as she pulled away from Charlie.

"Are you hurt?" Charlie asked.

She waved him off and took another look at the passenger." Teeth, tan: what – Californian?" She looked down at the tags on his luggage. "L.A., Santa Monica. Just arrived."

John's brow furrowed. "How can you possibly know that?"

"The luggage." Sherlock explained. "It's probably your first trip to London, right, going by your final destination and the route the cabbie was taking you?"

The man shook his head and spoke in an American accent. "Sorry – are you guys the police?"

"Yeah." Sherlock flashed the I.D. at him. "Everything all right?"

"Yeah."

Angelica moved towards the car and placed a hand on the door. "Welcome to London." She smiled and then closed the door. The four began to walk away.

"Basically just a cab that happened to slow down," John asked.

"Basically."

"Not the murderer." John said.

"Nope," Charlie said popping the second syllable. "Wrong country, good alibi."

"As they go," Sherlock said.

John looked towards the badge in Sherlock's hands. "Hey, where-where did you get this? Here." He took the badge from Sherlock's hands and examined the name on the badge. "Detective Inspector Lestrade?

"Yeah. I pickpocket him when he's annoying. You can keep that one, I've got plenty at the flat," Sherlock said.

John nodded, then looked down at the badge again before lifting his head and giggling silently.

"What?" Angelica said.

"Nothing, just: "Welcome to London."" John smiled.

Angelica grinned and then looked up at Charlie who let out a slight chuckle. Angelica turned around for a moment to see the cab from before pulled over. Police lights flashed and she could see the American man talking to the copper, pointing towards the group of four.

"Got your breath back?" Angelica asked.

The men all turned to look back at the police car. "Ready when you are."

They all broke into a sprint and ran down the road back to the flat.


	4. Chapter 4

They got back to 221B and all broke out into laughter. John and Angelica hung up their coats on the hooks whilst Sherlock draped his over the bannister. Charlie sat on the stairs as he caught his breath. He could still feel his heart beating against his ribcage.

"Okay, that was ridiculous." John laughed.

"God, it's been too long since I've done that," Charlie smiled as he looked across the room at Angelica.

She grinned back and collapsed onto the space next to Charlie. "Need to take you out more often."

Sherlock and John leaned against the wall next to each other. "That was the most ridiculous thing I've ever done."

"And you invaded Afghanistan," Sherlock said.

John and the twins giggled.

"That wasn't just me," John reminded.

Sherlock chuckled.

"Why aren't we back at the restaurant?" John asked.

Sherlock became more serious, but waved his hand dismissively. "Oh, they can keep an eye out. It was a long shot anyway."

"So what were we doing there?" John asked.

Sherlock cleared his throat. "Oh, just passing the time." He looked at John and then glanced towards Charlie. "And proving a point."

"What point?"

"You," Sherlock said and then looked towards 221A. "Mrs. Hudson! Doctor Watson will take the room upstairs!"

"Says who?" John asked as Angelica and Charlie both stood up.

Angelica smiled and spoke. "Says the man at the door."

John's brow furrowed as he glanced between the three smiling Holmes'. There was a knock at the door and John shook his head before answering it. On the other side of the doorway was stood Angelo. He held out John's cane.

"Sherlock texted me," Angelo said. He held out the cane "He said you forgot this."

John stared at the cane for a moment before taking it. "Er, thank you. Thank you."

He closed the door and then looked at Sherlock, slightly amazed. Mrs. Hudson then came out of her flat, looking tearful and afraid.

"Sherlock, what have you done?" She cried.

"Mrs. Hudson?" Charlie's voice was laced with concern.

"Upstairs." She told them.

The twins shared a glance before hurrying up the stairs with Sherlock and John on their tails. D.I. Lestrade was lounging casually in Sherlock's arm chair while other police officers searched through the Holmes' belongings.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock asked.

"Well, I knew you'd find the case. I'm not stupid," Lestrade said.

Charlie looked towards Angelica who was glancing nervously around the flat. His brow furrowed. The worst thing they might find was the cigarettes under Charlie's mattress.

"You can't just break into my flat."

"And you can't withhold evidence. And I didn't break into your flat," Lestrade spoke sternly.

"Well, what do you call this then?" Angelica snapped at him.

"It's a drugs bust," Lestrade shrugged as he looked between her and Sherlock.

"Seriously?! This guy, a junkie?! Have you met him?!" John jumped in and Charlie put a hand on his shoulder.

"Dr. Watson," Charlie spoke quietly.

"I'm pretty sure you could search this flat all day, you wouldn't find anything you could call recreational," John said.

"John, you probably want to shut up now," Sherlock spoke softly.

"Yeah, but come on ..." He looked into Sherlock's eyes. Sherlock held his gaze for a long moment and John shook his head. "No."

"What?"

"You?"

Angelica's anger broke through in her voice. "Shut up!"

John took a slight step back and Charlie quickly tore his attention away from the army doctor and to his sister. She stormed down the hallway towards their bedroom and he quickly followed after. The twins entered the room to see a detective rummaging through their things. Both mattresses had been lifted up. They left Charlie's cigarettes untouched but Angelica froze in her place as the officer picked up a glass bottle that had been hidden under her mattress.

Charlie froze as well, eyes widening. Why he had never thought to check in the same hiding place was beyond him. The officer glanced between the bottle and Angelica. He went to speak but Angelica lunged to him. Charlie was quick to react and caught Angelica by the waist.

"No! Don't you dare touch that! You have no right!" She cried out as Charlie lifted her off her feet and carried her back into the sitting room. Sherlock turned around and frowned at the sight of his children.

"It's an experiment," Sherlock spoke slowly. His eyes scanned over his children as he deduced them. The officer emerged from the hallway as well and held up the bottle to Lestrade.

Lestrade stood up and glanced between the bottle and Angelica.

"Downstairs," Sherlock growled.

"No! Let me go! Charles! If you know what's good for you, you will let! Me! Go!" Angelica screamed.

Charlie took a deep breath before sweeping Angelica's legs out from under her and carrying her bridal style.

Lestrade looked towards Sherlock, seeming unsure what to do. He knew Sherlock used to use, but the news of Angelica's problem was new. Donovan and Anderson stood in the sitting room looking slightly smug. Lestrade looked towards them and hardened his glare.

Lestrade looked back at Sherlock. "Sherlock, tell me the truth. Are you clean?"

Sherlock glared at him. "Yes."

"Did you know-"

Sherlock shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. "I'll take care of it."

"I'll ignore this and let you handle it, only if you comply with us on this case. You can't withhold evidence anymore." Lestrade said. "So let's work together. We've found Rachel."

Sherlock turned back to him. "Who is she?"

"Jennifer Wilson's only daughter," Lestrade replied.

"Her daughter? Why would she write her daughter's name? Why?" Sherlock asked and John looked at him in shock. His own children were right downstairs.

"Never mind that. We found the case," Anderson said pointing towards the pink suitcase. "According to someone, the murderer has the case, and we found it in the hands of our favorite psychopaths."

Sherlock looked at him annoyed. "I'm not a psychopath, Anderson. I'm a high-functioning sociopath. Do your research." He turned back to Lestrade. "You need to bring Rachel in. You need to question her. I need to question her."

"She's dead."

"Excellent!" Sherlock exclaimed.

John looked startled and began to wonder whether or not the children were best in this man's custody.

"How, when and why? Is there a connection? There has to be."

Lestrade looked exasperated. "Well, I doubt it, since she's been dead for fourteen years. Technically she was never alive. Rachel was Jennifer Wilson's stillborn daughter, fourteen years ago."

John grimaced sadly and turned away. Sherlock, on the other hand, just looked confused.

"No, that's ... that's not right. How ... Why would she do that? Why?" Sherlock ran the possibilities through his head, even theorizing reasons why he would write out his children's name at the time of his death.

"Why would she think of her daughter in her last moments?! You've got kids! Yup – sociopath; I'm seeing it now," Anderson scowled.

Sherlock looked at him exasperatedly. "She didn't think about her daughter. She scratched her name on the floor with her fingernails. She was dying. It took effort. It would have hurt." Sherlock began to pace back and forth.

"You said that the victims all took the poison themselves, that he makes them take it. Well, maybe he ... I don't know, talks to them? Maybe he used the death of her daughter somehow," John suggested.

Sherlock stopped and turned towards him. "Yeah, but that was ages ago. Why would she still be upset?"

John stared at him. Sherlock hesitated as he realized that everyone in the flat had stopped what they were doing and had fallen silent. He glanced around the room and then looked awkwardly at John.

"Not good?"

"Bit not good, yeah," Charlie said from the doorway.

John turned to look at the teenager. Charlie's shirt was untucked and there was a scratch across his cheek now. His eyes were slightly red and puffy. John was instantly worried.

"Are you alright? Where's Angelica?" John quickly assessed him. He took two quick strides towards him and tilted the teenager's head to examine the cut. "Won't need stitches. But, definitely need to clean that up."

Charlie shook of John. "I'm fine. Angelica's with Mrs. Hudson. Managed to calm her down after shoving a couple biscuits down her throat."

Sherlock ignored John and Charlie's exchange and continued on. "Yeah, but if you were dying ... if you'd been murdered: in your very last few seconds what would you say?"

"Please, God, let me live." John replied.

Sherlock sighed. "Oh, use your imagination!"

John frowned. "I don't have to."

Sherlock looked at the pained expression on John's face and paused for a moment and blinked. He then shook his head and continued on. "Yeah, but if you were clever, really clever ... Jennifer Wilson running all those lovers: she was clever." He started to pace again. "She's trying to tell us something."

Mrs. Hudson came to the door of the living room and stood next to Charlie. "Isn't the doorbell working? Your taxi's here, Sherlock."

Charlie looked at Mrs. Hudson almost disinterestedly before his eyebrows shot up.

"Angelica!" He cried out and rushed down the stairs, nearly tripping.

"I didn't order a taxi. Go away. I'm sure Charlie would like to have a strong word with you after he finds Angelica," Sherlock said and waved her away.

Mrs. Hudson's eyes widened before she quickly rushed out the door. She moved as quickly as she could back into her flat and was just in time to see Charlie sticking his head out of her open window. He swore and glared at Mrs. Hudson as he pushed past her. He pulled his mobile out of his pocket as he rushed out the front door. He ran full speed down Bakers Street.

"Uncle, I'm in a bit of a predicament," Charlie said as soon as his uncle picked up the phone.

"I've already picked her up, nephew dear." His uncle replied causing Charlie to stop running. He had already turned the corner. "I am bringing her back as we speak."

Charlie let out a sigh of relief but then froze. "How many cameras are in our flat?"

"Goodbye, nephew dear."

The line clicked and Charlie swore as he began his trek back to the flat. He walked, trying to regain his breath as he went. But, his heart wouldn't stop racing. Charlie had promised not to tell Sherlock, as did their uncle. Angelica had been doing well. She hadn't handed over a list in over eight months.

When Charlie turned back onto Bakers Street he watched his father climb into the cab Charlie had passed on his way out the door. The cab pulled away from the curb just as a slick black car rounded the corner. Charlie watched as the car pulled up in front of 221B. Charlie shifted into a light job and approached the back of the vehicle. He pulled open the door to reveal Angelica. She stared blankly up at him. Charlie offered a small smile and an out stretched hand.

She took it and got out of the car, bidding her uncle farewell. Charlie wrapped an arm around her shoulders and brought her back inside and to Mrs. Hudson's flat.

"Oh, Charlie, Angelica, dear, I'm so sorry," Mrs. Hudson apologized through her tears.

"Not your fault, Mrs. H," Angelica assured.

Charlie pulled out a chair at Mrs. Hudson's kitchen table and gestured for the landlady to leave them be. She nodded before disappearing from their sight. Angelica sat down in the seat Charlie pulled out and the Charlie took the chair across from her.

"I thought you were clean," Charlie said softly.

Angelica didn't dare look in his eyes. She rested her arms on the table and pulled up her sleeves to reveal healing marks. "It's been a month."

"I thought it was eight," Charlie hissed. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Uncle knew," She said.

"What doesn't he know?" Charlie snapped. "You promised me. You promised me, Angelica!"

Charlie glanced back down at her arms. His eyes narrowed before he gently grasped her arm in his hands. He ran his thumb over the pin pricks and watched as she looked away before swiftly pressing down. She swore and pulled her arm back. She finally looked him in the eyes.

"When?"

Silence.

"I said when!" He shouted this time.

"Yesterday. But, you weren't exactly around to notice it were you? You and father are never exactly home," She snapped at him, rising to her feet.

"I have school!" Charlie shouted. "Unlike you and dad, I actually have to go through school at a normal bloody pace!"

"Well, what about dad! Huh?! He's never around either!" Angelica shouted as she angrily pushed in her chair and headed towards the door. "Now, come on we have to go save his arse!"

Charlie's brow furrowed as he followed after her. "What do you mean, save his arse? Where was he going?"

They reached the door and Angelica grabbed her coat. John was coming down the steps just then.

"With the murderer," John answered for him as he descended the stairs with a small computer in his hands.

"Where's Lestrade?" Charlie asked as the trio headed out the door.

"Left while you two were having a row," John explained as Angelica flagged down a taxi.

A cab pulled over and the trio got into the cab with John between the twins. He gave out directions to the cab driver as Charlie called Lestrade.

Five minutes later, they arrive at Roland-Kerr College. They exited the cab and John managed to stuff the computer into his jacket pocket. Three buildings faced them. John looked between the buildings and then the twins.

"I've only got one gun," John told them.

"No worries," Charlie spoke.

Charlie pulled a gun from the waistband of his pants and Angelica retrieved one from the pocket of her coat.

"When did you… you know what, don't worry about it. Angelica take the left, Charlie the middle, I'll take the right. Move quickly," John ordered. The twins nodded before all three took off into the buildings.

Angelica raced through the entirety of her assigned building with no luck.

Charlie moved through the hallways listening closely.

"Can you beat me?"

John raced up a flight of stairs and continued his search.

Charlie's eyes widened as he finally found the room his father was in. Sherlock was standing holding a pill bottle up to the light. The door was slightly ajar. He was blocking his view of the cab driver from before. He didn't have a clear shot.

"Are you clever enough to bet your life?" The cabbie asked.

John had burst through a classroom door and happened to glance out the window to see Sherlock.

"SHERLOCK!" he cried out.

"I bet you get bored, don't you? I know you do. Your daughter's never enough to compete with your intellect and that boy of yours… oh, we both know he'll never live up to your name. A man like you."

Sherlock unscrewed the lid of the bottle and moved just enough that Charlie could get a shot. He raised his gun waiting for Sherlock to move out of his way just a bit more.

"So clever," The cabbie continued. "But what's the point of being clever if you can't prove it?"

Sherlock removed the pill and held it up to the light between his thumb and forefinger.

"Still the addict."

Sherlock brought the pill down to eyelevel as Charlie's gaze hardened. Sherlock just needed to move slightly more to the right. John was raising his gun, aiming it.

"But this ... this is what you're really addicted to, innit? You'd do anything ... anything at all …to stop being bored."

Slowly Sherlock began to move the pill closer to his mouth and the cabbie mimicked his actions.

"You're not bored now, are you? Innit good?"

Sherlock moved just a centimeter to the right and Charlie pulled the trigger simultaneously with John Watson. Sherlock stepped back in shock as the two bullets tore through the cab driver. Both tore through the man's chest.

John lowered his gun and stared for a moment to make sure Sherlock was alright before grabbing the shell casing and disappearing from the windows view. He headed towards the buildings exit.

Charlie picked up his shell casing and quickly dashed away from the scene. Sherlock was fine but Charlie needed to disappear and catch up to John and Angelica before the police finally turned up.

John, Angelica, and Charlie all meet in front of the college. Charlie and John share a knowing look and Angelica easily deduced the earlier events from John. Silently, the three took off running around the corner. They ran for several minutes before stopping and leaning against the side of a building.

"Grab the casings?" Angelica asked.

Both men produced them from their pockets and showed them to her. She smiled, took them, and tucked them into her bra. "They probably won't suspect us unless Father says something to Lestrade. But, if they do, none of them would actually think to check here."

As she spoke, police cars could be heard in the distance. John nodded slowly before gesturing for them to start walking back to the scene.

Outside the college, Sherlock was sitting on the back steps of an ambulance. A paramedic put an orange blanket around his shoulders as Lestrade walked over. Sherlock gestured to the blanket.

"Why have I got this blanket? They keep putting this blanket on me." Sherlock's voice was laced with annoyance and confusion.

"Yeah, it's for shock," Lestrade said.

"I'm not in shock," Sherlock replied.

"Yeah, but some of the guys wanna take photographs." Lestrade grinned.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "So, the shooters. No sign?"

"Shooters?"

"One bullet tore through his back, the other his chest. Had to be two."

Lestrade nodded. "Cleared off before we got 'ere. But a guy like that would have had enemies, I suppose. One of them could have been following him but ..." He shrugged "... got nothing to go on."

Sherlock looked at him pointedly. "Oh, I wouldn't say that."

Now it was Lestrade's turn to roll his eyes. "Okay, gimme."

Sherlock stood up. "The bullet they just dug out of the wall's from a hand gun. Kill shot over that distance from that kind of a weapon – that's a crack shot you're looking for, but not just a marksman; a fighter. His hands couldn't have shaken at all, so clearly he's acclimatized to violence. He didn't fire until I was in immediate danger, though, so strong moral principle. You're looking for a man probably with a history of military service. The other bullet is also from a hand gun, though this shooter was slightly shaky. Possibly from nervousness or anger even…" He trailed off as he looked around the area. His eyes settled on John standing with Charlie and Angelica.

John looked as calm as ever. Charlie appeared unfazed as well, but his arm was wrapped around Angelica's shoulders. Angelica had a steel look plastered across her face, meaning he wasn't comforting her; she was comforting him by allowing the contact.

John looked back at him innocently and then turned his head away to say something to the twins. Sherlock began to realize the connection. Lestrade turned to follow Sherlock's gaze and Sherlock turned back to him before he could start to ask questions.

"Actually, do you know what? Ignore me," Sherlock said.

"Sorry?"

"Ignore all of that. It's just the, er, the shock talking." Sherlock started walking towards John and the twins.

"Where're you going?"

"I just need to talk about the-the rent."

"But I've still got questions for you," Lestrade insisted.

"Oh, what now? I'm in shock! Look, I've got a blanket!" He brandished his blanket as Lestrade called out to him in protest. "And I just caught you a serial killer ... more or less."

Lestrade looked at him thoughtfully for a moment. "Okay. We'll bring you in tomorrow. Off you go."

Sherlock walked away. Lestrade smiled as he watched him go. Taking the blanket from around his shoulders, Sherlock quickly reached the trio. They were standing next to a police car. Sherlock wrapped the blanket around Charlie's shoulders after ducking under the police tape.

Charlie looked at him with a puzzled expression. He pulled the blanket closer to himself.

"Um, Sergeant Donovan's just been explaining everything, the two pills. Been a dreadful business, hasn't it? Dreadful."

Sherlock stared at him for a moment. "Good shot."

"Yes. Yes, must have been, through that window," John said.

"Hmm, and the crack in the door," Charlie said.

"Well, you'd know," Sherlock shrugged. "Need to get the powder burns out of your fingers. I don't suppose you two'd serve time for this, but let's avoid the court case."

John cleared his throat and looked around nervously. Charlie leaned slightly closer to Angelica.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes, of course I'm all right," John said.

"I'm not sure," Charlie spoke quietly.

"Well, you have just killed a man," Sherlock said.

Charlie's eyes widened. "Oh my god. I-"

"No. He was the fatal shot," Sherlock quickly interrupted Charlie's potential meltdown.

"Yes. I… Well… That's true, innit?" John smiled. Sherlock continued to watch him carefully. "But he wasn't a very nice man."

Apparently reassured that John really was okay, Sherlock nodded in agreement.

"No. No, he wasn't really, was he?" Angelica agreed.

"And frankly a bloody awful cabbie." John said.

Sherlock chuckled, then turned and started to lead them away. "That's true. He was a bad cabbie. Should have seen the route he took us to get here!"

The four burst into giggles.

"Stop! Stop," John hushed them, "We can't giggle. It's a crime scene! Stop it!"

"You're the one who shot him. Don't blame me," Sherlock replied.

"Keep your voice down!" Charlie hissed after noticing that they were passing Sergeant Donovan. He looked towards her. "Sorry – it's just, um, nerves, I think."

"Sorry," John said. John cleared his throat as they walk away from Donovan. "You were gonna take that damned pill, weren't you?"

Sherlock stopped and turned back to him.

"Course I wasn't. Biding my time. Knew you'd turn up," Sherlock insisted.

"No you didn't," Angelica said coolly.

"It's how you get your kicks, isn't it? You risk your life to prove you're clever," John explained.

"Why would I do that?" Sherlock asked.

"Because you're an idiot," Charlie and John spoke together.

Sherlock smiled, apparently delighted that he had finally found someone who understood him other than his children.

"Dinner?" Angelica suggested.

"Starving." John said.

"Agreed," Charlie sighed.

They turned and started to walk again.

"End of Baker Street, there's a good Chinese stays open 'til two. You can always tell a good Chinese by examining the bottom third of the door handle," Sherlock said.

"Yeah, no you can't," Angelica said.

John and Charlie both chuckled at the glare Sherlock shot her.

A car pulled up about a hundred feet in front of them and a man wearing a three piece suit exited. He was heavy set with hazel eyes and brown - almost burgundy - hair. An umbrella swung from his right hand.

John's jaw set. "Sherlock. That's him. That's the man I was talking to you about."

Sherlock's gaze hardened. "I know exactly who that is."

Angelica and Charlie glanced towards each other. Charlie was grinning whilst Angelica bore an annoyed expression. She didn't appreciate the scolding he gave her earlier.

They reach the man's side and John glanced around to gauge the police's whereabouts in case he needed to summon their assistance.

"So, another case cracked. How very public spirited ... though that's never really your motivation, is it?" The man spoke evenly.

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock questioned.

"As ever, I'm concerned about you and the twins," The man replied.

"Yes, I've been hearing about your 'concern'. I'm sure Angelica enjoyed her ride back home earlier," Sherlock said aggravated.

"Always so aggressive. Did it never occur to you that you and I belong on the same side?"

"Oddly enough, no!" Sherlock snapped.

"We have more in common than you like to believe. This petty feud between us is simply childish. People will suffer ... and you know how it always upset Mummy," He said.

Angelica and Charlie both looked away from the two men. John glanced between the four and frowned, unsure of what he just heard.

"I upset her? Me?" Sherlock exclaimed. "It wasn't me that upset her, Mycroft."

"No, no, wait. Mummy? Who's Mummy?"

"Our grandmother," Charlie said.

"Mother – our mother. This is my brother, Mycroft," Sherlock introduced.

John stared at the man in amazement.

"Putting on weight again?" Sherlock asked.

"Losing it, in fact," Mycroft replied.

Angelica scuffed.

"He's your brother?!" John was clearly still shocked.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Of course he's my brother."

"So he's not ..."

Sherlock's brow furrowed as he looked down at John. "Not what?"

The Holmes family looked at John as he shrugged in embarrassment. "I dunno – criminal mastermind?" He grimaced at having even suggested it.

Sherlock looked at Mycroft disparagingly. "Close enough."

"For goodness' sake. I occupy a minor position in the British government," Mycroft interjected.

Angelica rolled her eyes. "He is the British government, when he's not too busy being the British Secret Service or the CIA on a freelance basis."

Mycroft sighs. "If this is about earlier than…"

Mycroft stopped talking as Angelica began to walk away. Sherlock quickly followed after her as he spoke. "Good evening, Mycroft. Try not to start a war before I get home. You know what it does for the traffic."

John went to follow but paused and turned towards Mycroft. "So, when-when you say you're concerned about them, you actually are concerned?"

"Yes, of course," Mycroft replied.

"I mean, it actually is a childish feud?"

Mycroft was still watching his brother's retreating form. "He's always been so resentful. You can imagine the Christmas dinners."

"Yeah ... no. God, no!" John shook his head at the thought.

Charlie laughed. "Honestly, if you think our flat is bad…"

John half turned to follow Sherlock. "I-I'd better, um ..." John noticed a woman leaning against Mycroft's car, Anthea. "Hello again."

She looked up and smiled at him brightly. "Hello."

"Yes, we-we met earlier on this evening," John said.

"Yeah, give up, Dr. Watson. She's not allowed to be in a relationship with her job anyway." Charlie patted his shoulder before looking towards Mycroft. "Goodnight, Uncle."

Charlie quickly hugged his uncle before taking off down the street after his family.

"Good night, Charlie," Mycroft nodded. "Doctor Watson."

John quickly caught up to his flatmates. "So: dim sum."

"Mmm! I can always predict the fortune cookies," Angelica said.

Charlie rolled his yes. "No you can't."

"Almost can. You did get shot, though," Angelica said.

John's brow furrowed as he looked up at the Holmes daughter. "Sorry?"

"In Afghanistan. There was an actual wound," She pressed.

It finally clicked. John nodded. "Oh, yeah. Shoulder."

"Shoulder! I thought so," Sherlock exclaimed.

John shook his head. "No you didn't."

"The left one," Charlie said.

"Lucky guess," John laughed.

"Yeah," Charlie laughed.

John looked across at Sherlock who was smiling happily.

"What are you so happy about?" John asked.

"Moriarty."

"Who's Moriarty?" Angelica questioned.

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders and spoke cheerfully. "I've absolutely no idea."

Charlie yawned and instinctively leaned towards Angelica. She glanced up towards him as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her towards his side. Angelica rolled her eyes as he wrapped her arm around her brother's weight, semi supporting him as they walked to get Chinese food.


	5. Chapter 5

Charlie Holmes sat down in his math class in the back of the room. He dropped his black backpack down near his feet and proceeded to pull his notebook, textbook, and a copy of John's blog that he had printed out.

Charlie had started to read John's write up of A Study in Pink early that morning but couldn't get around to finishing it before he left. John had taken notice and printed a copy for Charlie to have. The ginger's face was full of bewilderment when he saw John standing in the doorway on his way out, holding out the pages. It was possibly the nicest thing someone had done from him all week. Charlie had wrapped the man into a quick hug. John had smiled and laughed before wishing him a good day. The doctor was glad his small gesture had made his morning.

Unfortunately for John, his small gesture of kindness would become slightly regretted that same afternoon. John would have never thought that Charlie would hand the pages back covered in red ink where he corrected every slight grammar mistake and added suggestions for rewording sentences. John would shake his head and take the corrections anyway, fixing the blog later that night.

But, that would be in Charlie's future. For now, he was waiting for the class to start and twirling a red pen between his fingers as he read over John's work. It was his way of distracting himself from the boy that had just walked into the room.

Wallace Clark had been the man of Charlie's dreams for several months. His blond hair, blue eyes, and dazzling smile would have Charlie swooning in a matter of seconds. Wallace was intelligent and had a good sense of humor that made him fun to be around. But, that short conversation in Angelo's caused everything to click for Charlie: the quick goodbyes, the glancing around at lunch and the few and quick pecks that always left Charlie wanting more. Charlie had ignored what his father said for weeks, thinking to himself that Sherlock had to be wrong sometimes. But, it seemed, this wasn't one of the few times where the man messed up.

Wallace smiled as he walked in and said hello to a girl at the front of the room. She had platinum blonde hair, green eyes, perfect make up and a pretty smile – not to mention the intelligence of a goldfish. Charlie couldn't help himself and looked up at Wallace and the girl. The glint in Wallace's eyes as he looked at her was all it took for Charlie to know that his father's deductions were true. Damn that man.

Wallace looked up to see Charlie staring and smiled at him. He said something quietly to the girl before heading to the back of the room. Charlie fixed his gaze back down to his paper.

"Hey, what's wrong, Char?" Wallace asked as he slid into the seat next to Charlie.

Charlie took a deep breath before looking up at Wallace with an empty expression. He had practiced this over and over last night in the bathroom mirror. Even if Charlie didn't have the Holmes confidence with words or a constant expressionless, monotone voice, he could sure fake it.

"You. You are what is wrong, Wallace," Charlie's baritone voice remained monotone." You're not interested in me. If fact, you're not interested in men at all. So, unless you feel like taking on the wrath of a Holmes, I suggest you scuttle away. Most likely back to your little girlfriend at the front of the room."

Wallace sat back in shock. "Sh-she's not my girlfriend."

"No, but you certainly are interested in her. You're particularly fond of having your tongue down her throat if I'm correct," Charlie said.

Wallace's mouth hung open for a moment before an angry look came over his chiseled face. He shot up from his seat and grabbed Charlie by the tie. "Who told you that?!"

 _Lucky guess,_ Charlie thought. He never realized he had picked it up from the slightly pink stain of the corner of his lips.

"Mr. Clark!" The teacher roared as he entered the classroom. "I suggest you release Mr. Holmes at once!"

Wallace glanced into the teacher's direction before roughly letting go of Charlie, shoving him slightly. He grabbed his bag and moved to the front of the classroom, collapsing into the empty seat next to the blonde. Charlie glared at the back of his head as he readjusted his tie and then his school blazer.

"And, Mr. Holmes, for the last time, remove that blasted hat."

Charlie sighed before ripping the black beanie from his head. He ran a hand through his ginger curls to try and fix the damage the hat had done. Shoving the hat into his pocket, he sat back in his chair and fixed his attention back on John's blog.

Charlie stayed late at school that day after receiving a text from his sister that she was off on a case with Sherlock and John at the bank. He didn't dare question the part about the bank.

Students were allowed to stay until seven to utilize the practice rooms at the school. Charlie had occupied one after the final bell rang and done the little homework he had before finally unpacking his violin. For two hours he tackled the Beethoven concerto he had been assigned for the end of term recital.

Charlie walked home the night. His ear buds were in and cranked up to full volume. He had his backpack slung over one shoulder and was carrying his violin tightly in the grip of his right hand. Twenty minutes later, Charlie arrived home to 221B to see John, Sherlock, and Angelica sitting in a mound of books.

John looked up at him and appeared slightly relieved for a moment. He went to speak by Charlie beat him to it.

"I told Wallace off today," Charlie said.

Sherlock hummed in response and Angelica spared him a quick glance. John's mouth formed an 'o' as Charlie had informed him of his findings the night before.

"If given the opportunity, I'm sure he would have hit me." Charlie continued.

Sherlock spoke. "Interrupted by the teacher."

Charlie nodded.

Sherlock nodded before pulling out his phone. He sent a quick text before pocketing it. Charlie would walk into school tomorrow to discover that Wallace's schedule had been changed so that he would have no reasons to ever cross paths with Charlie again.

"Care to help?" John asked.

"What are you doing?" Charlie asked.

"Decoding a cypher," Angelica replied as she opened and closed yet another book.

Charlie nodded slowly before going down the hallway towards his bedroom. "Good luck with that."

The next day was quiet in 221B. John, Sherlock, and Angelica were all off on the case and it seemed they were too far in to throw Charlie into it as well. He didn't mind. Quiet Saturdays were uncommon in the flat and Charlie took full advantage of that – which, of course, meant he was doing his homework in the kitchen rather than his bedroom.

As he finally finished his work he briefly wondered how the case was going and whether or not the circus was actually a Chinese gang. It was in fact the gang and Angelica was currently enjoying the adrenaline rush she received upon the loaded arrow being pointed in her direction.

Charlie packed up his school things and made a mental note to read John's blog in a couple days when he was finally finished writing up the case. He relocated his belongings to his bedroom before returning to the sitting room where he picked up a book and curled up on the couch.

Later that night, John, Sherlock, and Angelica all came back to the flat looking exhausted; however, Angelica wore a lopsided grin. Charlie glanced up at the trio before returning his attention to the pages in front of him.

"Oh, didn't want to look through books yesterday," John commented.

Charlie, whom had been in the middle of turning the page, froze.

"Excuse me?" Charlie asked.

John paused, reanalyzing what he had just said. "I'm sorry. I'm not quite sure why I said that."

"Exhaustion and events of today. Just go to bed, Dr. Watson," Angelica replied before slipping into the kitchen. She pulled open the fridge and ignored the drawer full of feet and pulled out a carton of apple juice.

"I want some!" Charlie called to her.

John shook his head and headed upstairs.

Angelica rolled her eyes before pouring two glasses and returning to the lounge. Sherlock had taken his place in his armchair and was resting his hands in a prayer position under his chin. Angelica handed the glass over to her brother as she sat down to his right on the couch. He thanked her before turning his full attention back to his book. Sherlock glanced between the two and then towards the juice, as if he were about to ask her to fetch him some as well.

"Get off your ass and get it yourself." Angelica took a sip from her glass.

"Language," Sherlock replied but stood nonetheless. He entered the kitchen and then returned a moment later with a glass of the juice. "How was school, Charlie?"

"It's Saturday," Angelica said.

Sherlock's mouth formed an 'o' shape before he took a sip of his drink. "Of course. I just meant in general."

"No you didn't," Both twins replied.

Sherlock shot them both a glare. The twins mimicked the same smirk, knowing they had caught their father red handed.

"Uncle called," Charlie announced.

"When doesn't he," Angelica said.

Sherlock looked towards her. "When he has a dentist appointment."

Charlie shook his head. "He wants us to visit the Grandparents with him next weekend."

"No." Sherlock said flatly.

Charlie finally looked up from his book. He snapped it closed with one hand and tossed onto the table. He held his cup closer to himself. "But, I want to go."

"Then go, we're not stopping you." Angelica considered the option for a moment. "Actually. I'd like a quiet weekend. We could go horseback riding!"

"You're obsession with horses," Sherlock groaned.

"You're obsessed with bees!" The twins shouted and sat up straighter. The parallel was uncanny.

"They're important!" Sherlock roared back.

Charlie took a sip from his glass before putting it down on the table. "Yes, but they're assholes. If I get stung by another one of those fuckers when we go to Grans then I'm going to have a fit."

"Of course you'll throw a fit. You're allergic to them," Angelica replied.

"Exactly! Little shits could kill me!"

"But, pollination!" Sherlock argued. "Without bees the ecosystem would collapse!"

John was stood in the doorway, now showered and changed into a pair of flannel pants and an old t-shirt with his dressing gown pulled over his shoulders. "Why are we arguing about bees?"

"Because they're important!" Sherlock shouted the same time Charlie shouted, "Because they're assholes!"

"Language!" Sherlock told off his son.

Charlie rolled his eyes and picked up his glass again. He leaned back into the couch. "Are we going or not?"

"Yes," John replied.

Sherlock's brow furrowed. He looked towards John. "What?"

"You're going and you're taking your father with you. I could use some peace and quiet for a couple days," John replied and gave them a quick smile. He looked at their glasses. "Please tell me that's apple juice."

"There's some in the fridge if you'd like," Angelica smiled.

John nodded slowly before venturing off into the kitchen. He emerged a moment later and sat down in his armchair across from Sherlock. A glass of apple juice was now in his hand.

"You two will be going without me," Sherlock announced.

"And why's that?" Charlie asked.

"Because he wants to do a case without us," Angelica pouted. "Rude."


	6. Chapter 6

Angelica Holmes sat on the coach wearing a bored expression. Her elbow was propped up on the armrest and her chin was resting in the palm of her hand. Sherlock was sprawled out on the coach with his legs thrown across her lap, seeming almost oblivious to his daughter's presence.

Sherlock's arm was raised carelessly as he fired his gun at the yellow face one the opposite wall. One could still smell the fresh paint; the can was still resting on the coffee table, left over from the previous case. He was dressed in his blue silk dressing gown and his feet were bare, much to Angelica's protests. She matched him, however, wearing her black dressing gown.

Angelica heard the sound of the front door opening a moment after Sherlock shot once again. John hurried up the steps just as Charlie was coming from down the hallway. He was close to the smiley face just as Sherlock rolled over and shot blindly with his left hand at the wall.

John's eyes widened as he pulled Charlie out of the way just in time. But the teenager didn't appear fazed.

"What the hell are you doing?!" John shouted at him. "You almost shot Charlie!"

"Bored," Sherlock groans.

John gave him a look of disbelief before changing his attention towards Charlie.

The teenager waved him off and headed towards the kitchen. His red curls were wild that morning and his expression was bored. One could easily observe that the boy just wanted to crawl back into bed. His green dressing gown hung loosely off of him and was untied, revealing that he was only in his red boxers.

John shook his head and looked back towards Sherlock. "What?"

"Bored!" Sherlock shouted this time. He sprung up from the chair causing John to recoil and go to cover his eyes.

"No," John said as he made his way towards Sherlock.

Sherlock switched the gun to his right hand and fired at the smiley face before swinging his arm around his back and firing at the wall again. "Bored! Bored!" He shouted with each shot.

John hurriedly took the pistol from his hands and removed the clip. Sherlock huffed but let him take it nonetheless. Angelica pushed up from the sofa and made her way towards the kitchen. John stopped her.

"You just allow this?" John asked.

Angelica gave him a puzzled look. "Wouldn't you shoot a wall if you had nothing better to do?" She then entered the kitchen. She could be heard speaking with Charlie about breakfast.

Sherlock sulked. "Don't know what's got into the criminal classes. Good job I'm not one of them."

John locked the pistol into the small safe resting on the dining table. He straightened. "So you take it out on the wall?"

Sherlock grinned proudly at the wall and ran his hand across the yellow smile. "Ah, the wall had it coming." He spun back around in a dramatic fashion before collapsing back onto the sofa.

"What about that Russian case?" John asked just as Angelica came back into the room.

A mug of coffee was now in her grasps. She glared at her father's position before taking his seat. "Belarus. Open and shut domestic murder. Not worth our time." She explained.

"Ah, shame," John spoke sarcastically. He entered the kitchen and threw his arms up in despair at the sight of the kitchen table. Science equipment littered the space and neither Sherlock nor Angelica appeared to be bothered to put it away any time soon. Charlie was standing in front of the stove about to make scrambled eggs.

"Anything in? I'm starving," John asked. Charlie went to answer but he was cut off by John discovering the head in the fridge. "Oh, fuck."

He immediately slammed the fridge shut again, unable to believe what he just saw inside. He slumped against the door for a moment and lowered his head. He straightened and looked towards Charlie with a bewildered expression. John turned back around and opened the fridge once again, staring at the head for a moment before closing it once again.

"It's a head. A severed head!" John called out.

"Just tea for me, thanks," Came Sherlock's reply.

"No, there's a head in the fridge," John exclaimed.

"Yes, you'll get used to it. He's measuring saliva after death of something. Want eggs?" Charlie asked.

"A bloody head!"

"Could make you a cuppa too if you want," Charlie suggested awkwardly.

John shook his head as he entered the lounge.

Charlie frowned. "Or not."

"I see you've written up the taxi driver case," Sherlock noted as he waved towards the direction of the laptop on the coffee table.

"Uh, yes." John walked over and sat down in his arm chair across from Angelica. She was slowly nursing a cup of black coffee.

"A Study in Pink. Nice," Sherlock said.

John shrugged. "Well, you know, pink lady, pink case, pink phone – there was a lot of pink. Did you like it?"

As John spoke, Sherlock picked up a magazine and began to flip through the pages. He seemed to speak to the pages instead of the man across from him. "Erm, no."

"I did!" Charlie shouted from the kitchen.

John smiled and laughed at Charlie. "Why not? I thought you'd be flattered," he then turned around to look towards the red head. "You showed that in red ink."

"Tough love," Charlie shrugged.

Sherlock had lowered the magazine and glowered at John. "Flattered?" He raised his index fingers and recited a portion of the blog. "Sherlock sees through everything and everyone in seconds. What's incredible, though, is how spectacularly ignorant he is about some things."

Angelica spoke immediately after. "His daughter, fifteen year old Angelica Holmes, is just as brilliant as her father and shares many of his strange quirks. This is why her brother, Charlie Holmes, is the life saver at the end of the day. With his Holmes qualities and experience with the former two accompanied by a touch of the normal world, he is the sole factor into making the other two _appear stable_."

"Now hang on a minute. I didn't mean that in a," John went to say.

Sherlock quickly interrupted. "Oh, you meant "spectacularly ignorant" in a nice way!"

Charlie laughed as he entered the lounge holding a plate with eggs and toast on it. He frowned at his father being spread out on the couch. He made himself comfortable on the floor, using the coffee table whilst he spoke. "Oh, get over it. It's not like the man's wrong. Besides, he makes me sound bloody brilliant whenever I'm mentioned. Not his fault you don't care whether the Earth goes round the Sun or not."

"Not that again. It's not important," Angelica groaned.

John stared dumbfounded at her. He shifted his position in the chair to face Sherlock. "It's primary school stuff. How can you not know that?"

Sherlock pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. "Well, if I ever did, I've deleted it."

"Deleted it?" John questioned.

Sherlock swung his legs around and sat up straight to look at John. Charlie quickly shot up and took his normal place on the coach.

"Listen," He pointed to his head with his finger. "This is my hard drive, and it only makes sense to put things in there that are useful ... really useful." He grimaced. "Ordinary people fill their heads with all kinds of rubbish, and that makes it hard to get at the stuff that matters. Do you see?"

John looked at him for a moment and did his best to hold his tongue.

Charlie shook his head. "But it's the solar system!"

Angelica briefly buried her head in her hands. "Oh, hell! What does that matter?!"

Sherlock looked at John in frustration. "So we go round the Sun! If we went round the Moon, or round and round the garden like a teddy bear. It wouldn't make any difference. All that matters to me is the work. Without that, my brain rots." He ruffled his hair before glaring at John. Angelica was silently shooting daggers at her brother. "Put that in your blog. Or better still, stop inflicting your opinions on the world."

Petulantly, he shoved the magazine across the coffee table. He then curled up into a small ball in the space next to Charlie, putting his back to John. Charlie raised an eyebrow at his father's childish antics. John looked away and thought over his words. He then stood up and headed towards the door.

"Where are you going?" Angelica asked.

John spoke tightly as he pulled on his jacket. "Out. I need some air."

He left the flat, nearly knocking into Mrs. H on his way down the stairs.

Mrs. Hudson entered 221B to discover the Holmes in nearly the same positon she had found them after John had departed. "Ooh-ooh!"

Sherlock turned his head to acknowledge her presence before turning back. Angelica stood and went towards the window, gazing out.

"Hi, Mrs. H," Charlie smiled, his gaze fixed on Angelica. His eyes drifted towards the window and he could feel his skin itch. He glanced towards his father's form before standing up and heading towards the kitchen to dispose of his dishes.

"Have you two had a little domestic?" Mrs. Hudson asked.

Sherlock rolled over and took the shortest route to the left window by stepping on the coffee table, nearly knocking off the cup of coffee Angelica had placed there before she had stood. He watched John hail a cab.

"Ooh, it's a bit nippy out there. He should have wrapped himself up a bit more," She continued.

Charlie put his dishes in the sink before scurrying off to his bedroom. He quickly got dressed in a pair of slacks and a grey button up. He pulled on his suit jacket before putting on his Belstaff and wrapping a green scarf around his neck. Charlie then grabbed a pack of cigarettes and tucked them into his pocket accompanied by his wallet and keys.

"I'm going out," Charlie announced. He didn't give his family much chance to reply as he immediately headed out the door and down the steps. He headed out into the crisp air and grimaced. He fished the black beanie Mycroft had given him out of the pocket of his coat and pulled it on over his ginger curls.

"Look at that, Angelica. Quiet, calm, peaceful," Sherlock grimaced.

Angelica nodded. "Isn't it hateful?"

"Oh, I'm sure something'll turn up, Angel. A nice murder – that'll cheer you up," Mrs. Hudson smiled. She chuckled slightly as headed back towards the door.

Sherlock raised his brow and took a deep breath. "Can't come too soon."

Mrs. Hudson stopped when she finally spotted the damage to the wall. "Hey! What've you done to my bloody wall?!"

Sherlock's lips turned up as he turned to inspect his masterpiece. Angelica fought back a smile as she glanced towards it as well.

"I'm putting this on your rent, young man!" Mrs. Hudson spoke sternly.

She stormed out of the room and down the steps. Angelica chuckled as she leaned against the window. Sherlock grinned at his daughter as he stood in the middle of the room.

But then he wasn't.

An explosion tore through the flat causing the windows to shatter and the Holmes were sent flying towards the floor. Sherlock smashed his head into the hardwood floor and let out an audible groan.

Angelica's scream spilt the air. She was sent flying back, landing past her father. Glass from the window tore into her side and her head and arm slammed against the floor with a sicken crack.

Sherlock managed to look up at his daughter. His eyes widened at her slumped form slowly pooling in blood. All the air left his lungs as he managed to mutter a word. "Angel."

John Watson woke up that morning at his current girlfriend - Sarah's flat. They had a brief pleasant morning until John had flicked on the news. He watched and his eyes grew wide before he quickly grabbed his things and wished Sarah a good day. His mind kept going over the possibilities of what could be going on with Sherlock and the twins.

John was just a few blocks away from Baker Street and decided to leg it. He rounded the corner and stopped. He stared in awe at the aftermath of the explosion. He managed to let the officer allow him through to the flat. John quickly bound up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

"Sherlock! Charlie! Angel!" he shouted as he climbed the stairs. He pushed open the door and stared into the living room. The windows were now boarded up and the once fine rug now had an obvious dark stain in it.

Sherlock was now dressed in his suit, his button up being his favorite purple one. His violin was clasped in his hands and he seemed completely unharmed. His gaze was fixed on the man in the seat opposite him – Mycroft. The two men seemed keen to never break eye contact, but it seemed neither could resist the temptation to glance towards the girl that was laid out on the sofa.

John's eyes widened at Angelica's condition. She was dressed in a pair of shorts and a sports bra. Large white bandages were wrapped around her middle and gauze was taped to right cheekbone, covering her stitches. Bandages also wrapped around the teenager's left leg, but she seemed unfazed as she looked towards John.

"Dr. Watson," She acknowledged.

"I saw it on the telly. How bad are you, Angel?" John then looked at Sherlock. "Are you okay?"

"Got the paramedics to leave me alone after an hour with the promise that I had a doctor around to look after me," Angelica grinned. "Which is good news because I can still feel a rather large shard of glass in my calf."

John's eyes widened before he rushed off to get the first aid kit. He returned a moment later and quickly got to work. "What happened anyway?" John asked.

Sherlock looked around at the broken glass and forgotten paperwork as if he had forgotten it was there. However, his eyes faltered as they scanned the fresh blood stain. "Gas leak apparently." He turned his attention back to his brother, who stared at him pointedly. "I can't."

"Can't?" Mycroft scuffed.

"The stuff I've got on is just too big. I can't spare the time." Sherlock replied.

John paused to look across to him in disbelief. He then glanced towards Angelica. She was paying attention to her father and uncle's conversation rather than John digging through her leg for the shard of glass. He could see it and was debating whether or not to tell her he was about to pull it out.

"Never mind your usual trivia. This is of national importance." Mycroft insisted.

A moment after he spoke, Angelica let out a loud yelp. It was quickly followed by John apologizing profusely as he disposed of the glass. "You'll need stitches so just bear with me. I don't have any anesthetic."

"My daughter's physical health is of more importance at the moment," Sherlock replied easily as he stood to his feet. This caught both men by surprise; however, Mycroft never let it show as John's eyebrows rose. Sherlock crossed the room and entered the kitchen, returning a moment later to hand a bottle of whiskey out to John.

"Oh, that'll do fine actually," John said. He uncapped the liquor gently poured it over the wound. John flashed an apologetic smile before he began stitching. Angelica winced with every thread and bit down on her tongue, hard.

"How's the diet?" Sherlock asked as he picked up his violin and sat back down in his armchair.

Refusing to acknowledge the insult, Mycroft replied: "Fine. Perhaps you can get through to him, John."

"What?"

"I'm afraid my brother can be very intransigent."

"If you're so keen." Angelica winced. "Why don't you investigate it?"

"No-no-no-no-no. I can't possibly be away from the office for any length of time – not with the Korean elections so," He trailed off as all three gave him strange looks, Angelica and Sherlock almost unsurprised. "Well, you don't need to know about that, do you? Besides, a case like this – it requires... legwork."

Sherlock plucked one of the strings rather harshly. "How's Sarah, John? How was the lilo?"

Mycroft pulled out his phone and read a text not even bothering to spare John a look. "Sofa, Sherlock. It was the sofa."

Sherlock briefly looked at John as the doctor finished up Angelica's stitches. "Oh yes, of course."

"How ...? Oh, never mind," John shook his head as he began packing away the first aid kit. "No walking around on that leg anytime soon. I'll bring some crutches home eventually but until then you're stuck on the sofa until later. One of us will carry you off to bed."

John moved and sat down on the coffee table. Mycroft shot John a tight smile, though he silently appreciated what he was doing for Angelica, even if he did pretend to ignore it. "Sherlock's business seems to be booming since you and him became ... pals."

Sherlock threw him a dark look.

"What are they all like to live with? Hellish, I imagine."

"I'm never bored," John spoke dryly.

"Good! That's good, isn't it?"

Angelica glared at him. Mycroft stood up as Sherlock picked up his bow and whipped one end through the air in front of him. Picking up a folder from the table beside him, Mycroft stepped forward and offered the folder to his brother but he just looked back at him. Mycroft frowned before handing the folder over to John.

"Andrew West, known as Westie to his friends," Mycroft said. "A civil servant, found dead on the tracks at Battersea Station this morning with his head smashed in."

"Jumped in front of a train?"

"Seems the logical assumption."

John's lips quirked up. "But ...?"

"But?"

"Well, you wouldn't be here if it was just an accident."

Sherlock smirked as he began to apply rosin to his bow. The hairs created a harsh screeching sound with every few strokes.

"The M.O.D. is working on a new missile defense system – the Bruce-Partington Program, it's called. The plans for it were on a memory stick."

John chuckled. "That wasn't very clever."

Angelica and Sherlock glanced at each other and grinned in agreement.

"It's not the only copy."

"Oh."

"But it is secret. And missing."

"Top secret?"

"Very. We think West must have taken the memory stick. We can't possibly risk it falling into the wrong hands. You've got to find those plans, Sherlock. Don't make me order you."

Sherlock took a deep breath as he brought his instrument up under his chin. "I'd like to see you try."

"Think it over." Mycroft said as he leaned slightly over his little brother in an attempt to look intimidating. Sherlock stared back at him seeming unimpressed. Mycroft turned and held out a hand to John. "Goodbye, John." John shook his hand politely and Mycroft looked behind him at Angelica. "Feel Better, Angelica. See you very soon."

John tried not to look nervous as Mycroft turned and picked up his coat from the back of the chair. He pulled it on before heading towards to door. The older Holmes stopped and the doorframe, not bothering to turn around as he spoke.

"Oh, and Sherlock. Do check in with your son. Most parents would be worrying during days like this." With that, he left.

Sherlock began to repeatedly play a short irritating sequence of notes. John frowned across to him but Sherlock continued to play until Mycroft had left the room and was on the stairs. Sherlock finished playing as John quickly fished his phone out of his pocket. He pulled up Charlie's contact.

 _Come home. Sherlock might not worry but I do. Angelica's been hurt. –JW_

"Why'd you lie?" John asked Sherlock.

Sherlock looked across to him as the front door banged shut.

"You've got nothing on – not a single case. That's why the wall took a pounding. Why did you tell your brother you were busy?"

Sherlock shrugged. "Why shouldn't I? Besides, I've got to make sure she doesn't hurt herself any further now." He waved in Angelica's direction.

Angelica scuffed. "As if. Moment you find an excuse you'll be leaving my ass on the sofa to rot."

John nodded in agreement. "Sibling rivalry. Now we're getting somewhere."

Sherlock clamped his mouth shut but the silence was quickly broken by Sherlock's phone ringing. He answered. "Sherlock Holmes." He listened for a moment and then his expression tensed. "Of course. How could I refuse?"

He switched his phone off and pocketed it as he stood to his feet. He placed the violin in his chair.

"Lestrade. I've been summoned. Coming?"

John gritted his teeth. "Angelica."

"Of course." Sherlock nodded and made to sit down again in hopes to prove a point to both John and Angelica. But then he remembered John sending a text. "But, Charlie will be home in ten minutes. You told him Angelica's been hurt." He shot back up and quickly made to grab his coat. "She'll be fine. Coming?"

John stood up and glanced between Sherlock and Angelica.

"Hand me the book on the third shelf, third from the right and I'll be just find," She told him.

John did as instructed as Sherlock turned back to him and gaze him a grin.

"Besides, I'd be lost without my blogger."

Angelica let out a rather unattractive snort as John followed Sherlock out of the flat. She opened her book to page one. She figured she'd be in the middle of chapter four when Charlie turned up again. However, chapter twenty rolled around and Angelica finally looked up from the pages. The London night could be seen through the window causing her brow to furrow. She had never heard Charlie bound through the door. He was bound to have made a scene upon entrance; she had seen the text John sent.

She swore loudly because her leg was throbbing.

And she needed to piss.

"Mrs Hudson!" Sherlock's voice came from down stairs. Angelica sat up quickly on the coach. Her book fell from her hands and hit the floor with a soft thud.

"John!" Angelica shouted.

A moment later, the blond man poked his head into the flat.

"You alright?" John asked. He looked around a moment. "Where's Charlie?"

"That's the thing. He never turned up. He should have been home half an hour ago. Charlie doesn't do this and my phone is on the desk," She said.

John quickly moved and grabbed her mobile. He tossed it to her and she caught it with ease. Angelica swiftly sent a message to her uncle, hoping he could shed some insight on her brother's whereabouts. She looked up from the phone and back at John. Her eyes trailed across him for a moment before she spoke.

"Bomber?"

"How'd you know?"

"You're tense and thinking about taking me out of the flat, meaning the bomb is closer than you would like," Angelica said.

John nodded and then went to move towards her.

"No. I'm not moving. If I blow up, I blow up. Wouldn't be the first time." She gestured to her wounds from that morning. "Now, go on. I'll text you if Charlie comes home."

John nodded before heading off down the stairs.

Angelica repeatedly flipped her mobile over in her hands. Her gaze fixated on the yellow smiley face painted on the far wall. It didn't take long for her to grow bored of this and pick up her book. However, she quickly finished the novel. She squinted and looked at her options sitting on the shelf on the opposite side of the room. She made her decision. "Mrs. Hudson!"


	7. Chapter 7

Sherlock Holmes sat at the kitchen table in 221B. The pair of trainers found in the flat below were bagged and sitting next to him as he flipped through old newspaper articles from 1989. Angelica sat next to him and assisted; however, her eyes flickered towards her mobile sitting on the table every few moments.

John was pacing. "Can I help?"

Sherlock didn't react to his words whilst Angelica only glanced at him.

"I want to help. There's only five hours left."

John's phone went off and Angelica looked up at him, completely forgetting the newspaper in front of her.

 _Any developments?_

 _"_ It's your brother. He's texting me now. But I'm not sure whether about the case or your son." John frowned. "How does he know my number?"

Sherlock spoke thoughtfully, "Must be a root canal."

Angelica frowned. Sherlock was most likely correct and that meant Mycroft wasn't as concerned about Charlie's whereabouts as she and John were.

John shoved his phone back in his pocket and entered the kitchen. "Look, he did say 'national importance.'"

Sherlock snorted, not bothering to look up from his work. "How quaint."

"What is?" John asked.

"You are. Queen and country."

"You can't just ignore it."

"I'm not ignoring it. Putting my best man onto it right now."

John nodded. "Right. Good." He folded his arms and gaze Holmes a look of puzzlement. "Who's that?"

"Dr. Watson, you're smarter than this," Angelica sighed.

Later on that day, John entered Mycroft's office now wearing a jacket and tie. He sat in the chair across from Mycroft's desk as he fiddled with the file in his hands. Mycroft finally entered the room and John stood up.

"John. How nice. I was hoping you wouldn't be long," Mycroft said. "How can I help you?"

Mycroft strolled past John and took a seat behind his desk, impassively waving a hand in John's direction as signal that he could sit down again.

"Thank you." John sat. "Um, well, I was wanting to ... um, your brother sent me to collect more facts about the stolen plans, the missile plans."

Mycroft looked over and gave an insincere smile.

"Did he?"

"Yes. He's investigating now."

Mycroft brought his hand up to the side of his mouth as if he were in pain. He then shook his head. "But, you'd rather not talk about the case. You want information on Charlie's whereabouts I presume."

John cleared his throat. "Yes. Of course. Worried."

"Don't. Be reminded, Dr. Watson, Charles should not be your concerned. He is Sherlock's son, not yours," Mycroft said.

"Someone's got to look after him. I'm not even sure if Sherlock realizes he's gone."

Mycroft nodded as if in agreement. "Angelica was worried again?"

John nodded.

"Charles is most likely fine. Angelica has separation anxiety that only emerges after accidents. He should be home soon. Charles in perfectly capable of handling himself. I'll send out my men if I discover he's in trouble."

Back at the flat, Sherlock had just assisted Angelica in moving back into the sitting room after John told him to. She was spread out across the coach with a new book Sherlock had handed her. Afterwards, Sherlock had immediately returned to his work and was now gazing into a microscope. Mrs. Hudson entered the room carrying a tray with several mugs on it. She went and placed a steaming mug of tea on the coffee table next to Angelica. The girl hummed a thank you as Mrs. H moved towards the kitchen. She set the trey down on the table.

"Poison." Sherlock said suddenly.

"What you going on about?" Mrs. H asked.

Sherlock slammed his hands down on the side table. "Clostridium botulinum!"

Mrs. Hudson cringed and swiftly exited the kitchen. Sherlock looked around at Angelica and John, who had just entered the living room.

"It's one of the deadliest poisons on the planet!"

John looked at him blankly.

"Carl Powers!"

Angelica's gaze finally snapped away from her book. "Wait-what?"

"Oh, wait, are you saying he was murdered?" John asked.

Angelica's mouth formed a small 'o' before returned to reading.

Sherlock stood up and walked over to where he had hung up the laces from the trainers. "Remember the shoelaces?"

"Mmm."

"The boy suffered from eczema. It'd be the easiest thing in the world to introduce the poison into his medication. Two hours later he comes up to London, the poison takes effect, paralyses the muscles and he drowns," Sherlock explained.

"What – how-how come the autopsy didn't pick that up?"

"It's virtually undetectable. Nobody would have been looking for it."

He walked around the table to where his computer notebook was lying. The page was open at the Forum of his own website, The Science of Deduction, and he began to type something into the message box:

 _FOUND. Pair of trainers belonging to Carl Powers (1978-1989). Botulinum toxin still present. Apply 221b_ _Baker St._

Sherlock continued to speak. "But there were still tiny traces of it left inside the trainers from where he put the cream on his feet. That's why they had to go."

"So how do we let the bomber know…" John trailed off.

"Get his attention." Sherlock looked at his watch; "stop the clock."

"The killer kept the shoes all these years," John mused.

"Yes. Meaning…"

"He's our bomber," Angelica answered as she glanced up from her book. John looked over at her and nodded before turning back to his previous position. He blinked for a moment before turning back to her. She was about a third a way through the book and he could have sworn she was just at the beginning a few moments ago.

The pink phone was resting on the side table and it rang.. Sherlock hurried over to it and switched on the speaker. A sobbing woman spoke: "Well done, you. Come and get me."

Sherlock spoke loudly and clearly. "Where are you? Tell us where you are."

She answered and Sherlock and John quickly rushed out of the flat. John called out to Mrs. Hudson to look after Angelica as he pulled out his phone to ring Lestrade. Angelica watched them go with a blank expression across her pale features. She longed to go with them, but she knew if this state, she would only slow them down.

After hearing the front door slam close she snapped her book shut and reached over to the coffee table where her phone sat. It had vibrated just a minute after the men had left. She picked it up and frowned, the sender was not who she had hoped.

 _Charlie's fine. Spoke with Mycroft._

Angelica took a deep breath and dropped her phone back on the table. She moved the hardback from her lap and set it on top of the stack of books she had already read since the explosion that morning. It was growing higher with every hour. Lacing her fingers together, she rested her head against the arm rest and stared up at the ceiling, mumbling quietly to herself.

"Thank you, John."

"What's that, Angel?" Mrs. Hudson asked as she entered the room.

Angelica closed her eyes and took a long breath. "Nothing, Mrs. H. I'm fine. Go back to your show."

Mrs. Hudson shook her head but stayed in the room anyway. The landlady swiftly picked up Angelica's stack of books, leaving the top one after noticing the bookmark. She returned the already read books to their proper spaces on the shelf and skimmed over the titles. Finding nothing that seemed to fit her needs, the woman left the room without saying anything. Angelica hardly noticed until Mrs. Hudson returned, set a book on the table, and draped a blanket over the teenager.

Angelica could hear the landlady's footsteps as she traveled back down the stairs. The teenager opened her eyes and stared at the blanket slightly annoyed before she turned her gaze to the table. A worn copy of an Agatha Christie novel had appeared and Angelica couldn't help but chuckle.

The next morning, John, Sherlock, and Angelica all sat in a café. John was eating a hot meal accompanied by a cup of steaming tea and Angelica was nursing a mug of black coffee. Her long fingers were wrapped around the white ceramic as she stared out the window next to the table. A pair of crutches was leaning against window. John had texted Mycroft and had one of his men drop them off at the flat. Sherlock was tapping his fingers against the table impatiently.

"Feeling better?" Sherlock asked Angelica.

She didn't seem to hear him. John tapped her arm causing her to finally react.

"Oh. Yes. Much. Pain meds are wonderful." She gave her father a quick forced grin before turning her gaze back to the window.

John's fork froze half to his mouth as he shared a look with Sherlock. "Yeah, we'll be monitoring your pills now."

Angelica didn't turn but Sherlock saw her annoyed expression.

"Mmm. You realize we've hardly stopped for breath since this thing started?" John bore a thoughtful look as he took another bite of his food. "Has it occurred to you…?"

"Probably." Both Holmes interrupted.

John shook his head. "No – has it occurred to you that the bomber's playing a game with you? The envelope; breaking into the other flat; the dead kid's shoes – it's all meant for you."

Sherlock smirked. "Yes, I know."

"Is it him, then? Moriarty?" Angelica asked.

"Perhaps."

The pink phone went off and the message emitted two pips followed by a longing ping. Then a photo of an elderly woman appeared on the screen.

"That could be anybody," Sherlock said.

"Well, it could be, yeah. Lucky for you, I've been more than a little unemployed," John replied.

Sherlock and Angelica gave him an odd look.

"How d'you mean?"

"Lucky for you, Mrs. Hudson, Charlie and I watch far too much telly." John stood up and walked over to the counter. He flashed a smile at the woman behind the counter; he picked up a remote control and switched on the small television that was hung on the wall. He flipped through the channels before finding the one he wanted. The woman from the photograph appeared on the screen, midway in her show.

The phone rang and Sherlock answered. "Hello?"

Angelica watched as a slick black car pulled up in front of the café. She sighed before standing up and John quickly rushed over to hand her the crutches. He looked out the window and immediately recognized the car as one of Mycroft's. He went and held the door open for her so that she could easily leave. Anthea exited the back of the vehicle and held the door open for the younger Holmes.

John shook his head, not wanting to know how Mycroft knew to send a car so quickly.

Several hours later Sherlock and John had returned to 221B. Angelica was lounging on the couch once again and a new stack of books had accumulated on the coffee table. Papers were hung up all over the wall by Sherlock as he shifted through the information for the case. John kept making an attempt to fuss over Angelica but she just continued to wave him off. He finally succumbed, but noticed the stack of books – all of them were by Agatha Christie.

"I didn't know you were an Agatha Christie fan."

"Mrs. Hudson let me borrow them," She replied as she turned another page. John nodded as the pink phone went off again. Angelica tuned out the conversation. There was no point in her focusing on a case when she wasn't allowed to run.

Charlie Holmes walked the streets of London with his hands stuffed in his pockets. His black beanie rested on top of his ginger curls and a cigarette rested between his lips. He had received the text from John that morning and immediately elected to ignore it. If the injury had been serious enough, Mycroft would have alerted Charlie by now.

His stomach growled causing him to frown and glance around at the street he was on. He knew of a decent café only a couple blocks away and was sure Mycroft wouldn't mind putting a couple pound in his bank account for him. Charlie pulled his mobile out of his pocket and was about to press Mycroft's contact as he passed by an alleyway.

A gasp escaped his lips and his cigarette hit the ground as he was pulled into the dark alley. He struggled as an arm wrapped around his waist and a cloth of was pressed over his mouth. His blue eyes widened when he smelt the chemicals.

And then his eyes closed and Charlie Holmes slumped in his kidnapper's arms.

When John and Sherlock returned to the flat, they were accompanied by D.I. Lestrade. The Detective said hello to Angelica when they all arrived but she seemed to ignore him. John went to tell her off for being rude until he noticed the girl had fallen asleep. Sherlock only spared her a glance before going back to the papers posted all over the wall.

John looked at Angelica and sighed. He gently took the book from her lap, marking the page she was on, and set it atop the stack of other books. The blanket Mrs. Hudson had provided her had fallen to the floor, so he picked it up and draped it over her. Carefully, he tucked her curls behind her ear, out of her face.

He turned around but froze when he noticed the bottle of pain meds on the coffee table. The doctor picked up the prescription and uncapped it. He dumped the contents into his hand and quickly counted the pills. Frowning, he pocketed the bottle.

221B was freezing that night. John, Sherlock, and Angelica were all wrapped in their coats and Angelica had a blanket thrown across her by John's orders. The windows had yet to be replaced, causing all the heating in the flat to escape the building.

Sherlock was sat in his chair with his arms crossed as he watched the television. Jeremy Kyle was on and the detective was oddly invested in it, as was Angelica. The crowd booed.

"No, no, no! Of course he's not the boy's father!" He gestured at the screen. "Look at the turn-ups on his jeans!" Sighing, he folded his arms again.

"I can see clearly. Others cannot," Angelica mumbled.

John was sat in his chair with his computer in his lap. He had looked up from the screen to see what Sherlock was protesting and shook his head when he saw the show. He went back to typing. "Knew it was dangerous."

"Hmm?"

"Getting you into crap telly."

"Hmm. Not a patch on Connie Prince."

"Have you given Mycroft the memory stick yet?" John asked causing Angelica to raise an eyebrow. She had forgotten to ask John to fill her in on the case. The only thing she had heard about from the previous day's endeavors was that both men had nearly been killed by the Golem and shortly following that John gave her a lecture about the prescription. Angelica had then spent the night snooping through Mycroft's database using Sherlock's computer to research the serial killer.

"Yep. He was over the moon. Threatened me with a knighthood – again," Sherlock replied.

Angelica snorted. Her father was a terrible liar. He and Angelica had already been knighted.

"You know, I'm still waiting."

"Hmm?"

"For you to admit that a little knowledge of the solar system and you'd have cleared up the fake painting a lot quicker," John said.

Angelica and Sherlock both shot him a glare. "Didn't do you any good, did it?"

"No, but I'm not the world's only consulting detective."

"He's not the only one," Angelica groaned.

"True."

John closed his laptop and stood up. "I won't be in for tea. I'm going to Sarah's. There's still some of that risotto left in the fridge."

"Mm!"

Angelica eyes lit up at the sound of the leftovers. She did love it when John cooked.

John paused at the door. "Uh, milk. We need milk."

"I'll get some," Sherlock replied.

John rounded back wearing an expression of disbelief. "Really?!"

"Really."

John looked towards Angelica, who shook her head no. "And some beans, then?"

Sherlock hummed, still not turning his head away from the TV. John hesitated, but then nodded and walked away. Sherlock continued to gaze at the TV until he heard the downstairs door open and shut. He then picked up his computer from where it was tucked down beside him. Putting it on his lap and opening the lid, he stared at the message box his website before starting to type:

 _Found. The Bruce-Partington plans. Please collect._

He lifted his eyes in thought for a moment, then hinted at a small smile before returning to his typing.

 _The Pool. Midnight._

He sent the message and closed the lid. Angelica looked across at him and frowned.

"I can't come, can I?"

"No, you'll only slow me down," He replied as he stood up. "You'll be up and fine in a couple of days. I'll send you and Charlie off on a case on your own."

Her eyes lit up. "Really!?"

"Possibly."

With that, Sherlock Holmes left 221B.

When Charlie Holmes awoke, he was freezing. He could feel the cold metal chair beneath him and with a slight movement of his arms he became fully aware of the ropes around his wrists, binding him to the furniture. His legs were tied as well. He opened his hazel eyes and stared at the wall of lockers.

Lockers.

Where the hell was he?

He looked around the room only to discover more lockers and several benches. There was no way this was his school locker room, so he had definitely never been here before. Charlie desperately tried to remember what Sherlock had taught him if he ever ended up in a situation like this. He took a deep breath, attempting to calm himself. But a smell struck him as off.

Chlorine.

He was at a pool. No wonder the building had a locker room.

"What the fuck," he mumbled out loud.

"Do you kiss your mother with that mouth," An English accent asked.

"More like yours, actually," Charlie bit back childishly.

Charlie heard a door behind shut, closely followed by footsteps. He watched as a man with dirty blond hair and dark brown eyes approached. The man had broad shoulders and a strong jawline. He wore an expensive looking grey suit with a blue tie, but the pants were wrinkled slightly from the knees down which almost caused Charlie to laugh. The man was frowning at Charlie. "I must have forgot – your mummy's been gone for some time now hasn't she, Mr. Holmes?"

Charlie narrowed his eyes. "What's your name then?"

"Sebastian Moran."

"Suck any dicks lately, Mr. Moran?" Charlie asked. This earned a backhand to Charlie's face. His head whipped around and Charlie chuckled, a sly smile dancing on his lips. "Touchy subject, then. No worries, I'm not interested in older men."

"I have a question for you," Moran stated. "And one question only."

"Well that's no fun," Charlie titled his head to the side as he looked up at the blond. "I was hoping to get to know you."

"Who are you to Sherlock Holmes?"

Charlie couldn't help but laugh at that one. "You kidnapped me and don't know that answer? I'm his son. Even the press knows that."

Sebastian growled and roughly grabbed Charlie by the hair. The teenager yelped as his head was pulled roughly towards the man's head.

"Answer the question."

Charlie winced before looking the man in the eyes. He gritted his teeth. "A waste a space."

"What if I told you I can change that?"

"And what if I told you to fuck off?"

Sebastian smiled; his eyes lit up. "You'll regret it."

Charlie felt his chest tighten.


	8. Chapter 8

Sherlock Holmes entered the pool house and took in his surroundings. There were several doors leading to various places in the building and the shallow end of the water was closest to him. He removed the thumb drive from his suit pocket, held it up, and spoke loudly. "Brought you a little getting-to-know-you present. Oh, that's what it's all been for, hasn't it? All your little puzzles; making me dance – all to distract me from this. "

Sherlock spun slowly in a circle as he awaited an answer. A door clicked open and Sherlock watched as John Watson entered the room.

John was wearing a heavy, beige jacket with his hands stuffed into the pockets. His face was stoic as he looked at the detective. Trailing slowly behind him - as best he could without looking terrified - was Charlie Holmes. The ginger's wrists were handcuffed behind his back and a white rag was tied tightly around his mouth, preventing his speech. His breaths were heavy as he watched his father across the room.

Sherlock wore an expression of surprise and he could not seem to be able to choose a man to look at.

"Evening." John said.

Sherlock's raised hand slowly lowered as he continued to stare at them in disbelief.

"This is a turn-up, isn't it, Sherlock?" John continued.

Sherlock spoke softly. "John. What the hell ...?"

"Bet you never saw this coming."

Sherlock finally moved and began to make quick strides towards John and Charlie. John removed his hands from his pockets and pulled open the front of the jacket. A bomb was strapped across his chest and red laser points began to dance over it and Charlie's chest.

"What ... would you like me ... to make him say ... next?"

Sherlock continued to walk forward. He looked around wildly at the rest of the room in an attempt to map out where the marksmen were.

"Gottle o' geer ... gottle o' geer ... gottle o' geer." His voice almost cracks.

"Stop it."

"Nice touch, this: the pool where little Carl died. I stopped him." John cringed before continuing. "I can stop John Watson and little Charlie too. Stop their hearts."

Sherlock turned and looked around for another person. "Who are you?"

A door opened at the far end of the pool and a soft Irish accent spoke from the entrance. "I gave you my number. I thought you might call."

The man that entered the room was shorter than the Holmes, but obviously taller than John. He had slicked back, dark hair and seemingly dead opal eyes. He wore an expensive suit and tie. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his trousers. He casually strolled down the deep end of the pool towards the trio.

"Is that a British Army Browning L9A1 in your pocket or are you just pleased to see me?"

Sherlock removed the pistol from his trousers and raised it towards the man. "Both."

Jim stopped and looked at him unfazed. "Jim Moriarty. Hi!"

Sherlock titled his head to the side as he gazed at Jim.

"Jim? Jim from the hospital?" He began to walk again, this time wearing a look of disappointment. "Oh. Did I really make such a fleeting impression? But then, I suppose, that was rather the point." Jim turned to face Sherlock. Sherlock glanced towards John and Charlie. "Don't be silly. Someone else is holding the rifle. I don't like getting my hands dirty. I've given you a glimpse, Sherlock, just a teensy glimpse of what I've got going on out there in the big bad world. I'm a specialist, you see..." He paused, looking surprised; "...like you!"

"Dear Jim. Please will you fix it for me to get rid of my lover's nasty sister?" Sherlock said as he took a few steps closer to Moriarty. "Dear Jim. Please will you fix it for me to disappear to South America?"

Charlie couldn't hold back his snort of laughter.

Jim's gaze cut towards Charlie. "Just so."

"Consulting criminal. Brilliant."

Jim smiled proudly at Sherlock. "Isn't it? No-one ever gets to me – and no-one ever will."

Sherlock cocked his gun. "I did."

"You've come the closest. Now you're in my way."

"Thank you."

"Didn't mean it as a compliment." Jim noted.

Charlie dared move slightly, just enough so that he and John could look at each other. Charlie's eyes were full of nervousness and the Holmes could sense John was as well; however, John had years of trauma to be able to hide his fears.

"Yes you did."

Jim shrugged. "Yeah, okay, I did. But the flirting's over, Sherlock," His voice began sing-song-ish, "Daddy's had enough now!"

 _Kinky,_ Charlie thought.

Jim strolled closer and his voice returned to its normal tone. "I've shown you what I can do. I cut lose all those people, all those little problems, even thirty million quid just to get you to come out and play. So take this as a friendly warning, my dear. Back off. Although I have loved this – this little game of ours. " He put on a London accent for a brief moment. "Playing Jim from I.T. Playing gay. Did you like the little touch with the underwear?"

"People have died." Sherlock said.

Jim rolled his eyes. "That's what people DO!" He screamed the last furiously and Charlie's eyes widened slightly as Jim true persona came through. In that brief instant, Charlie was able to feel every ounce of psychopathy that ran through his criminals veins. Jim was evil and Jim knew that.

"I will stop you."

Jim's voice returned to being calm. "No you won't."

Sherlock's eyes flickered towards John and Charlie. "You all right?"

John deliberately attempted to keep from looking Sherlock in the eye. Both he and Charlie had been given instructions not to speak to Sherlock; but, judging by the gag, Charlie had protested that instruction. Jim strode over and leaned over John's shoulder. "You can talk, Johnny-boy. Go ahead. You too, Charles." Jim easily undid the gag around the teenager's mouth.

John refused to follow Moriarty's orders and gave Sherlock a curt nod.

Charlie licked his lips. "That thing tasted horrible. When was the last time you washed it?"

Jim raised an eyebrow at this.

Charlie cringed. "Yeah. Probably don't want that answered."

Sherlock held out the flash drive. "Take it."

"Huh? Oh! That!" Jim went past John and Charlie and took the drive from Sherlock. "The missile plans!" Jim brought the drive up to his lips and gave it a kiss before tossing it into the pool. "Boring!"

John mumbled something to himself, most likely in disbelief about Sherlock lying previously that day about giving the plans to Mycroft. Charlie rolled his eyes. Leave it to Sherlock to casually hand over missile plans to the most dangerous man in the world.

"I could have got them anywhere."

John took his opportunity and quickly raced up behind Jim and wrapped his arms around him.

"Sherlock, take Charlie and run!"

Jim laughed in delight. Charlie didn't waste his time and quickly raced towards his father. As soon as Charlie next to Sherlock, the man side stepped in front of his son.

"Good! Very good." Jim praised.

Sherlock still raised the gun, trying to anticipate the snipers movements as he watched John and Jim.

"If your sniper pulls that trigger, Mr. Moriarty, then we both go up," John spoke harshly.

Jim looked up at Sherlock. "Isn't he sweet? I can see why you like having him around. But then people do get so sentimental about their pets. However, children are always a different story." A sickly sweet smile danced across the madman's face.

Sherlock stood up straighter at this and Charlie gritted his teeth.

"Like you would know," The teen snapped.

John grimaced and pulled Jim closer, further sandwiching the bomb between them.

"They're so touchingly loyal. But, oops! You've rather shown your hand there, Doctor Watson. As did you, Mr. Holmes," Moriarty grinned. He chuckled as a laser points appeared in the middle of Sherlock and Charlie's foreheads. John stared in horror as Jim looked around at him expectantly. Charlie realized what was happening from the expression on John's face and took a deep breath. "Gotcha!"

Jim chuckled as John released the criminal and stepped back with his arms raised. Jim glanced round at him and then turned back to the Holmes's. He straightened out his suit and gestured to it indignantly. "Westwood!"

Charlie rolled his eyes even though he was silently appreciating the craftsmanship.

"D'you know what happens if you don't leave me alone, Sherlock, to you?"

Sherlock sounded bored as he spoke. "Oh, let me guess: I get killed."

Jim grimaced. "Kill you? N-no, don't be obvious. I mean, I'm gonna kill you anyway someday. I don't wanna rush it, though. I'm saving it up for something special. No-no-no-no-no. If you don't stop prying, I'll burn you." He scans his eyes over Sherlock before his voice turns into a snarl. "I'll burn the _heart_ out of you."

"I have been reliably informed that I don't have one," Sherlock replied.

Charlie looked at his father and then back at Moriarty.

"But we both know that's not quite true." Moriarty tapped his left calf with his opposite foot.

Sherlock almost flinched.

Jim smiled. "Well, I'd better be off." He turned around and headed towards the exit. "Well, so nice to have had a proper chat."

Sherlock raised the pistol higher and pointed it closer towards Jim's head. "What if I was to shoot you now – right now?"

Jim was unfazed. "Then you could cherish the look of surprise on my face." He opened his eyes and mouth wide, mimicking shock, before grinning at Sherlock. "'Cause I'd be surprised, Sherlock; really I would. And just a teensy bit disappointed. And of course you wouldn't be able to cherish it for very long." He turned away. "Ciao, Holmes." Looking back at Sherlock with some distaste, he walked calmly to the side door through which John came earlier.

Sherlock watched him go with careful eyes. "Catch ... you ... later."

The door opened and Jim exited, speaking with a high-pitched sing-song voice. "No you won't!"

The door closed. Sherlock watched the door for a moment before quickly rushing over to John. He quickly removed the vest from the doctor and slid it across the floor to the opposite side of the room. John sunk down to his knees and leant against the wall whilst Sherlock quickly rushed over to Charlie. He removed a lock picking device from his pocket and quickly removed the handcuffs from around his son's wrists.

"All right?" he asked the pair.

"Slightly terrified." Charlie answered easily.

John tilted his head back as he took deep breaths. Slowly, Charlie walked over to the wall John was against and sunk down as well. John looked towards the teenager and sighed before wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pulling him close.

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah-yeah, I'm fine." John replied. "I'm fine. Oh, Christ."

Sherlock picked up the pistol again and hurried down the hallway Moriarty disappeared down. He returned a moment later, apparently finding no signs of him. He paced, his mind going a mile a minute to the point that he didn't think twice about scratching the back of his head with a load pistol.

John spoke breathlessly. "Are you okay?"

"Me? Yeah, I'm fine, I'm fine. Fine." Sherlock said in quick fire. He turned to John wide eyed. "That, er ... thing that you, er, that you did – that, um ... you offered to do. That was, um ... good."

John stared blankly ahead. "I'm glad no-one saw that."

Sherlock finally moves the gun away from his head, but was now rubbing his chin. "Hmm?"

"You, ripping my clothes off in a darkened swimming pool. People might talk," John said.

Charlie couldn't help the laugh that ruptured in his chest.

Sherlock shrugged. "People do little else."

Sherlock looked down at John and Charlie before grinning. That caused all three men to burst into laughter. John moved to stand up but quickly sat back down at he sees the red lights that began to dance across his chest once again.

"Oh, for fucks sake," Charlie groaned. "Get a life!"

A door at the far side of the pool opened and Jim Moriarty walked out, clapping his hands together as he looked across the room at the three men. "Sorry, boys! I'm soooooo changeable!"

John grimaced as Charlie slowly moved to his feet and frowned at the consulting criminal. Sherlock kept his back to Moriarty as he tried to gage how many snipers were aiming at him. It was obviously quite a few due to there being several marksmen aiming at each man.

"It is a weakness with me but, to be fair to myself, it is my only weakness. You can't be allowed to continue. You just can't. I would try to convince you but ..." He laughed and his voice became high-pitched again "... everything I have to say has already crossed your mind!"

Sherlock looked at John, his face vacant of all emotions, yet his eyes made a silent request. John nodded. Sherlock looked towards Charlie who shrugged. Sherlock turned to face Jim. "Probably my answer has crossed yours."

Sherlock raised the pistol and aimed it at Moriarty. The criminal grinned, but his head tilted back and he grew slightly anxious as Sherlock lowered the pistol. He aimed it at the bomb sitting on the floor closer to Jim.

"Got to love a good plot development," Charlie mumbled.

Jim Moriarty stared down Sherlock Holmes, neither breaking eye contact. John kept looking between the two while Charlie stared at Sherlock. The teenager was biting the inside of his lip as his thoughts raced back to his twin sister who was currently sitting back at the flat reading her book.

What would she do if they didn't make it out of here?

Most likely she would go off to live with Mycroft until she turned sixteen in a few months. Then she'd go back to living at 221B and Mrs. Hudson would ignore the late rent. However, Mycroft would pay it for her until then. Angelica would pick up cases from Lestrade and move on with life. These events wouldn't faze her in the slightest.

Angelica was in the middle of climax of her book when her phone rang.

"What?" She spoke annoyed into the phone.

"I'm afraid the men will be home late tonight, if they come home at all," Mycroft told her.

Angelica rolled her eyes. "No surprise there. Where's Charlie at? I thought he'd be home by now."

"With them."

Angelica felt her chest tighten.


End file.
